


Winter Son

by Downdilly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And the even more awesome readers, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, BAMF Hobbits, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Because they totally are, Humble gift to all the awesome writers here, I Don't Even Know, I'm sure something is gonna get missed, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downdilly/pseuds/Downdilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo was not the only Hobbit child to survive the Fell Winter and it left marks on them all. </p><p>It's possible the Hobbit Gandalf wants doesn't exist any more, but what he finds in its place may be better. </p><p>What happens when the Bilbo who learned from that Winter is recruited to face a dragon in its den. And...steal from Smaug, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Good Morning"s

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired not just by the original works of J.R.R.T. but the works of all the wonderful authors I've read on this site, thank you. Hopefully, this won't offend, since its been a number of years since I've actually written anything.

(In Which We Face the Obligatory Shopping Trip)

 

The day started out fine for early spring, the morning mist burning off by second breakfast and the air pleasantly warm by elevensies. Morning chores complete, Bilbo Baggins stepped onto his front porch and surveyed the land around in contentment.

Winter had well and truly gone, retreated back to the mountaintops in the north. New growth was making itself known, and the bees were busy flitting flower to leaf in search of the choicest bits for the sweetest honey. Soon enough it would be time to pull the last of the winter crops; he’d have to remember to pick up seed and seedlings for summer harvest.

Bilbo tamped the pipe he held one last time before reaching for a splint to light in the oil lantern. He made quick work of lighting his pipe and blew out a smoke ring—slightly lopsided, he noted with a half-smile—before he ambled down to sit on the bench by the road and simply enjoy the day. Relaxed with his pipe and a full morning’s work, Bilbo’s eyes drifted shut for just a moment while he listened to the peace of the Shire. 

Someone was staring at him.

He roused enough to twitch his nose and smell the much inferior Longbottom Leaf from whoever it was that was standing in the road watching him. Slitting open one eye to see who it was, Bilbo blinked in surprise. There was a tall, thin, ancient Man on the road in front of Bilbo’s smial. A tall, thin Man, wearing a grey robe over equally grey pants and boots, all under a grey pointed hat. The old Man leaned casually on a gnarled staff as tall as he was and studied Bilbo as intently as Bilbo studied him. 

Bilbo sucked in a breath and blew out a smoke ring before he nodded to the Man. “Good morning.”

“What do you mean?” the old Man drawled, leaning further on his staff so that for a moment Bilbo worried he might tip over. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not. Or that you feel good this particular morning? Or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Bilbo shrugged and spoke around his pipe stem, “All of them at once, I suppose.”

“Humph!” the Man straightened up. “To think I’d have lived so long as to be ‘good morning-ed’ by Belladonna Took’s son.”

Bilbo nodded sagely. “It’s good to still have new experiences at your age.”

The look on the old Man’s face went from sagging disbelief to a thunderous scowl in seconds. He straightened up, ready to unleash the tongue lashing of the age on the smoking hobbit who contentedly continued to send smoke rings chasing each other.

“So what mischief brings you to the Shire this time, Gandalf Greyhame?”

Bilbo’s ears twitched when he heard the Maiar’s teeth click shut and then grind against each other.

After a long moment, the wizard sighed then examined the reclining hobbit more closely. Longish, golden brown curls blew softly in the gentle morning breeze, flickering playfully around and over Bilbo’s gently pointed ears. Amber gold eyes danced with merriment and a touch of knowledge over a slightly flattened nose and well-formed mouth. The hobbit’s form was not the soft roundness Gandalf was accustomed to in the Shire, but perhaps the youth had been ill recently and only now was getting around. Likely, considering winter had just passed and illness tended to fly one to the next then. It would also explain the long sleeved linen shirt under the fine lavender vest and the darker rose jacket of some kind of heavy material, all over buff pantaloons neatly buckled just below the knee. Neatly groomed calves and feet completed the picture of a gentleman-hobbit at the end of a convalescence.

“I’m looking for someone, a hobbit specifically, to share in an adventure, and I seem to be having a difficult time finding one.”

Bilbo thought for a moment, gaze crossing over the neatly checkered fields on the side of the hill beyond Hobbiton.

“Well, I can see that,” he finally answered, rising to his feet and crossing to check his mail. “Nasty, disturbing things, adventures; make you late for dinner.” 

He turned his back on the wizard, flipping through the half dozen letters in his box. His whiskey brown eyes flicked up at the movement of a shadow in his garden that was gone nearly before he could see it.

“You might have better luck over in Bywater or Buckland or Tuckborough rather than anywhere here.” Bilbo waved his hand to indicate the broad expanse of the Shire that was _over there._

“No,” the wizard said slowly, from behind him. “No, I rather think I’ve found my hobbit. You, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo turned back eyes wide in shocked surprise. “Me? No, no I can’t possibly! Too much to do here! Turnips due for harvesting, you know! But really, drop by for tea some time; perhaps next week?”

Now it was the wizards turn to walk away, waving his hand in Bilbo’s direction as he disappeared down the hill. “It’ll do you good!” 

Bilbo watched the wizard vanish down the hill and around the curve while he finished his pipe. 

“Hal?” He said quietly.

“On it, Bil,” and a second hobbit, Halfonse Took, appeared at Bilbo’s elbow from the hedges. There was a momentary exchange of looks and Hal left trotting while Bilbo disappeared into his smial.

Closing the door behind him, Bilbo leaned against it for a moment and chewed the end of his pipe, thinking through the encounter with the Grey Wizard. Gandalf’s reputation was well known throughout Middle Earth; he was an inveterate meddler and romantic, one of the hands of the Valar in Arda. It seemed that the years of interference had made him unused to being denied, and now he was turning his attention to the Shire again.

Bilbo would have to quietly put some plans into action but nothing much could be done until Hal returned with information. However, since it seemed likely he’d be leaving the Shire for a bit, he could begin to get his travel gear together. And in the meantime, there was still lunch.

Halfonse returned two hours later and brought with him Apple and Shando Chook. While Hal had the typical gold hair and blue eyes of the Tooks, Apple and Shando had the darker hair and eyes as well as the stouter body of the Stoor descended Chooks. The three slipped in through the back garden door and into the kitchen.

Bilbo looked up at them and started a tea tray. With water already hot from his own brew the four were settled in a matter of minutes with plates of savory and sweet treats as well as their tea.

He waited until the other three had settled their tea and plates before he started. “What news? Why is Gandalf the Grey come back to the Shire and interfering?”

It was Shando that raised a hand for patience while he finished an oatmeal biscuit and chased it with his drink.

“Dwarves, we think,” he glanced at his sister, who nodded along. “There’s always some coming and going, but over the last week or so there’ve been a group of ‘em staying put in Bree at the Pony. Apple recognized one as a traveling smith so we didn’t think anything of it ‘til we saw the wizard with them Trewsday past. We were heading in to report when Hal caught us.”

“Dwarrow,” muttered Bilbo, staring into the dregs of his tea. “A secretive, moderately-lived race; much tragedy in their history.”

Halfonse stirred next to him. “Could it be related? Could the wizard be dragging dwarf troubles into the Shire to get help with them?”

“Hmm, seems likely Hal,” Bilbo said. “He’s looking for a hobbit to go on an adventure; I think it more likely he wants to drag the Shire to the troubles, and the only dwarf troubles I can think of is the succession question of the Stonefoot which a hobbit certainly can’t help with, and---.”

Bilbo blinked. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And then after a moment’s reflection realized he could, would, and likely had.

“And what Bil?” Shando prompted.

“And the Dragon Smaug in the Lonely Mountain.”

The reaction of the other three was typical. Halfonse and Shando yelled, banged and shook their fists. Apple ate another biscuit and watched Bilbo pour himself more tea while they waited for the other two. It was several minutes of creative threats against the “great grey pudding head” later that they realized Bilbo and Apple were calmly watching them.

A few last grumbled threats and the two hobbits settled in to plan.

“All right, Bilbo, so Gadfly wants to take you off to slay a dragon; one that defeated an entire dwarf army. What’s the plan?”

“I suspect,” Bilbo started with, “that since there are no reports of a dragon sighting since before we were born there may be some belief that Smaug is dead. If he is, no harm in a jaunt over and back again.”

Shando snorted. “And the likelihood of that?”

Bilbo nodded. “About what you’re thinking it is. How many dwarrow are staying at the Pony? Do they seem to all be together?”

Shando and Apple nodded, and while Apple dug in her satchel for a thick scroll, Shando began to describe them.

“There’s at least a dozen, give or take, and at least two family groups; or so I assume from their names. What was it?” Shando squinted, trying to draw out a memory. “Lori and Bori, I think? And there was a third but I don’t think I ever heard his name. The other pair was Biffer and Boffer, oh, and there was a great, huge, ugly scarred up one, with a pair of axes you’d think was his true loves, that one was Wally.”

While he listened to Shando ramble on, Bilbo studied the sketches Apple had made of the dwarrow. Shando was good in a brawl and his tracking ability second to none but his memory had never been quite the same since the last orc raid in North Farthing, ten years past. He shuffled through them quickly, picking out the family groups; two sets of three, along with a half dozen others including the easily identified Wally. Staring down at the dwarf warrior, he sincerely hoped Wally wasn’t his name—although it would no doubt give Bilbo a few private giggles along the road.

Towards the bottom was the one he’d been looking for, a sketch of Gandalf talking to another dwarf, long of hair and short of beard. Apple hadn’t gotten much more of his face, and there was no indication of beads beyond a couple of short braids.

“Is there another of him?” Bilbo asked Apple, frowning when the lass only shook her head.

“Shando?” Bilbo spun the picture around. “What can you tell me about this one?”

Shando looked over while he bit into an apple—and where had he gotten that from?—before shaking his head as well. “Tha’s the smith; think he was the leader, seein’ as how Gandalf was always talking to him. Deep voice though, always had a furry jacket on, even inside. Him and Wally seemed thick as thieves when the wizard weren’t around.”

Bilbo studied the likenesses a bit longer, picking out similarities between them. There looked to be at least another pair of brothers, a youngish pair and wasn’t that odd. From what he knew dwarrow didn’t allow youngsters into danger, so either they weren’t as young as they appeared or someone had been pressured into letting them go. Perhaps one of the others was an older relative?

He sighed. “All right, we know the wizard is going to get his way. One way or another, a hobbit of the Shire is going to go with these dwarrow. So far, Gandalf is fixed on me; I could easily say no, but then he might pick someone less willing to stand up for themselves, or less comfortable with traveling Outside. The result will be one dead hobbit and who knows how many dead dwarrow.”

Halfonse tipped his chair forward from where he’d been leaning. “You’re going,” he said, flatly.

Bilbo nodded. “I’m going. I’ll need some help with arrangements, and they need to be quick. I suspect I’ll be having at least a dozen dwarrow and a wizard for dinner tomorrow night since they’ve not yet turned up at The Dragon, as well as needing to pack for a long journey and see to things here. “

“Apple and Shando, if you could go around to the market and let the rest know what’s going on? I’ll need travel food for a month as well as dinner and breakfast for fourteen, maybe more and maybe for longer. I’ve a bit in the pantry to start, but I’d rather be prepared. Hal, have you time to spare right now?”

He waited while Hal nodded and waved a hand. “’Course I do; at your command, Master Fox!”

A hiss for silence and a whack upside his head met Halfonse’s chirpy answer. “You know better, who knows whose listening, we’ve not set out guards at all! It might be peacetime but better safe than sorrowful.”

“Sorry, Shan, Bil,” Halfonse dropped his head in apology.

“No harm done, Hal,” Bilbo nodded at the other, although Shando still looked grumpy. “If you’ve time I’ll have some letters to send out to get my affairs in order and I’ll need a pair of ponies. While you’re doing that I need to check my gear. Oh!” He turned to the Chook siblings, “Apple, could you pick up a few extras, maybe some extra line and hooks? And rope, always need rope.”

The Chooks nodded and Shando offered his hand to Apple before the pair of them scampered off to market, supplies to feed fifteen already listed in their head, cost not an issue; they were part of the Winter Children, and all the Shire knew they only did and took what was needed to keep the Shire safe.

While Shando and Apple left to shop, Bilbo and Halfonse put their heads together to plan. It was only an hour’s work for Bilbo to put together needed lists, and write a half dozen necessary letters. He passed Halfonse a pouch of coin to speed their delivery as well as purchase the ponies he wanted.

Alone again, Bilbo padded down a hallway to what used to be his bedroom in the family wing. Unlocking it took a little work, as it was secured by an odd dwarvish puzzle lock he’d come across. Padding across the room to one of the many cupboards, Bilbo ignored a good portion of what was stored here. Boar spears weren’t likely to be of help—fortunate, since he’d never been good with one—but his bow would definitely go. He added a pair of quivers full of arrows with different tips and supplies to make and repair both. A brace of leaf-bladed knives and a pair of wicked long dirks joined the pile along with stones and oils. Bilbo added a sling, and hesitated over a long length of chain, each end fastened to a light cuff. Finally he shrugged and added that and a thin wire. Better to have and not need, after all.

From another cupboard came more general supplies. A pair of packs, bedroll and extra blankets, tinder box—checked for completeness, pointless to carry one without all the makings—heavy cloak and a pair of heavy canvas sheets with metal grommets set along the edges that’s he’d paid a pretty coin for and had been well worth it. From drawers under the cupboard came a pair of sewing kits, one for repairing leather and tack, the other for more general work. A third cabinet yielded a selection of healing supplies; bandages and raw wool lint, several balms and a small supply of herbs and teas. Most of these he could pick fresh as they traveled, but it was always good to have a backup. Bilbo quickly ran down his mental list and copied it to a sheet of parchment, leaving it under a stack of coin on a side table; one of the Children would need to be tasked with replacing everything.

Looking at the pile he added a third pack, then turned his attention to the last cupboard. Swinging the doors wide he began shuffling through the piles of leathers, thinking. Should a dragon decide to chomp on him, no armor would protect him from it.

“But there is still the risk of other things,” he mused, “orcs, wargs, bandits and the like.”

In the end, Bilbo pulled out a pair of long vambraces and half gloves, a brigandine and gorget, and a small leather cap. Speed and agility was a hobbit’s main defense, and anything heavier than leather would not benefit him. After a moment’s thought he swapped the brigandine for a heavily padded vest lined in lamb’s wool. He added a pair of long-legged, fleece-lined breeches, a pair of foot-wraps to match, and a handful of the leather straps hobbits preferred when climbing trees to protect and aid with traction.

A commotion from down the hallway drew his attention from where he’d laid everything out neatly to inspect it prior to packing. Poking his head out he followed his ears back to the kitchen where Apple, Shando and a half-dozen tweens were unpacking bundles of foodstuffs, Shando directing some to one of the pantries and the rest along the counters. Sixteen baskets full of food and a double handful of sugared biscuits later saw the back of the curious and allowed Bilbo to shut the world away from the three adult hobbits.

“Come and make sure I’ve not forgotten anything,” Bilbo said, beckoning them back to his work space.

The brother and sister obediently began going over everything he’d pulled out, occasionally replacing one thing with another from storage. Finally, Apple gave a little snort of disgust and pulled out a pair of water skins and a slender money belt to add to the pile. The glare she gave the pair of them reeked of ‘Males!’ while the two of them blushed at forgetting such obvious things.

It was well past tea time and into supper before the three were happy with Bilbo’s selections. A fourth pack had been added for storage and while it might seem excessive to many, to the three Hobbits it just seemed good sense as none of them knew just how prepared these dwarrow would be. Right now they were assuming between ten and fifteen, including Bilbo, but what specialties they would have, if any, were unknown.

“All right,” Bilbo said, stretching cramping muscles, “let’s take a short break for food and start doing some cooking. I’m expecting them tomorrow, latest, and never let it be said a Baggins isn’t prepared to host a party.”

Shando groaned while Apple huffed and nodded her agreement. Tea and food was way past due, and the little that remained could be finished at leisure. Apple had the presence of mind to scoop up coin and list before leaving to let Bilbo lock up.

They were just setting the first of the vegetables and fruits down to be cleaned and prepared when Halfonse came whistling in the back door.

“Sing, hey, good hobbits, I come with news,” Hal grinned and reached for the teapot.

“Not with those hands,” Bilbo exclaimed, smacking Hal’s hands away. “Go wash up, you’ve been pony wrangling and I’ll not have your stable-y paws on my tea service.”

“And a good thing I did,” Hal added cheerfully, adding the remaining hot water from the stove to the cold in the sink. “Seems a baker’s dozen of dwarrow have arrived at the Dragon set on buying up every pony they can find. Even made an offer for Otho Sackville’s old nag, and you know what a nasty beastie that one is. I think you’re right in thinking they’ll be here tomorrow, late as it is and them having to hunt for mounts.”

Bilbo finished off his cress sandwich before he asked, “What about you Hal, any luck?”

“ ‘Course! Got you a pair of those soft walkers Farmer Maggot’s been working on breeding. Went there first thing and saved plenty of time in the long of it. Ran across a couple of Rangers there.”

“Rangers?” Shando blurted out. “This time of year?”

Hal sobered. “Aye. They’ve had word that some of the ghoulies and creeps have been rattling at their cages over the winter, anxious to be back to their doin’s, seems like. I talked with them a bit after we left Maggot’s place and they asked me to pass the word, maybe get the old gang together and be a little more active on the sly.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. “And what did you tell the Rangers?”

Hal shrugged and helped himself to the rest of the cress sandwiches before pouring tea and adding more honey than anyone else there could stand. “Told ‘em I’d pass it on to those who needed to know. And so I have.”

Bilbo sighed; this was going to complicate matters. There were only twenty-seven of the Winter’s Children left in the Shire. Twenty-six if he left, and he knew that there was no real choice in the matter. It left six or seven for each of the Farthings, and hopefully the Tooks and Brandybucks could be counted on to keep a watch as well, maybe even fight a bit. It would likely be safe enough, but he’d give his leftenants access to Bag End while he was gone to make use of.

“How many of the lasses are carrying at the moment?” he asked Apple. When she held up three fingers, he huffed. “All right, Bag End will be headquarters. You three and…Folco, I think, will captain the Farthing patrols. Do it just like then, but until there’s movement keep things light. Practice runs, stock supplies on the sly; if I come across anything I’ll send it back or a letter if I can’t. It’s only rumors right now, but we don’t want to be caught out.”

Between the four of them a veritable mountain of pies, pastries and breads were made that afternoon. Along with a month’s worth of muslin bags of seasonings for soups and stews were stuffed hard rolls meant to travel. Ideally, sometime in that month Bilbo would have the opportunity to stop and resupply, and of course the only logical way out of the Shire (for Big Folk and larger groups) was through Bree where he could pick up anything they might miss.

Along the way the four planned out what would be done while Bilbo was gone. Who would take over, what needed to done; supplies purchased, old shelters cleaned and prepared, new possibilities to join them. New members would not be Winter Children, that name was earned by their actions in the Fell Winter, and one only had to look at Apple and Shando to see that scars were still present. On others, one had to look closer and deeper. Perhaps they could be Spring Faunts, they teased each other, since it was that time of year coming on.

Finally as much was done as could be done and dinner long past when Bilbo closed the door behind his friends. He would miss them dearly, but perhaps he’d find new ones along the way.

Armed with a candlestick, Bilbo made his way to his more public, private study, where the daily business of much of the Shire passed through. Books, papers, and maps of every kind were stacked and scattered on anything flat enough to hold something (and even some that weren’t). He pulled out a pair of lacquered scroll cases, set them on his desk and began thumbing through the stacks of maps on his shelves. Some he kept, most he returned to the piles.

In the end, he had four maps. The topmost was a highly detailed map of the Shire and near surroundings, while the others held broader and vaguer details, until the bottom most was not much more than major outlines and features. It was a map Bilbo had compiled himself, boundaries and features taken from the dozens of maps he’d purchased from traders over the years. There were notes here and there, information gathered from travelers’ tales, quite a bit of it from Rangers he’d met. Studying them he picked out likely roads and hazards along the way, although hazards were only a best guess. It was exciting to think he’d be able to fill in the many gaps it still showed. Satisfied with his selection, he added several sheets of parchment, quills, ink and charcoal sticks, rolled and wrapped them well before sliding them into the first case. A quick twist and the first was sealed then slid into the second. He’d have time on the road to make copies.

With a last look around his study, Bilbo set the map case next to the front door and headed off to bed.


	2. Dinner and a Show

(In Which We Enjoy the Obligatory Dinner Theatre)

Morning came way too early, but even while he stretched and contemplated rolling over for another hour’s snooze, Bilbo’s stomach made its discontent known. With a sigh he rolled out of bed and headed for a quick wash and change. There were things still to do, and he had no idea what time the wizard and his pet dwarrow were going to arrive.

Putting the kettle on and setting a large pot over the kitchen fire for warm water—just in case—he set a pair of rolls to warm while Bilbo started his day. Smoked meats were brought out to warm for later, and the wood boxes by the fires were filled. A quick nibble of a roll slathered in butter and he was out the door to check on the ponies that should be in his shed.

There were, in fact, three of them. He was still contemplating this when Halfonse hailed him.

“Good morning!” Hal’s disgustingly cheerful morning face met Bilbo’s over the shoulder look. “Your friends are wreaking havoc in the market today. I imagine they’ll be here about early tea, unless they’ve less sense of direction than the leader. Got lost coming in from the stables last night, according to Rosie Cotton at the Dragon.”

“There are three ponies, Hal.”

Hal nodded. “Well, three mules anyways, not ponies.”

Bilbo turned and punched Halfonse in the arm before the younger hobbit could duck.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“No. You’re not coming with me.”

Hal snorted. “ ‘Course not. Got responsibilities here, don’ I? Going as far as Bree, though,” he added.

“I don’t need—“

“Yes,” Hal held up a hand. “We know you don’t need a watcher, but these dwarrow; we don’t know them. There’s thirteen of ‘em, and how can we know any of them can be trusted to watch your back? And besides,” he grinned, “Apple will have my head if I can’t give a full accounting to her of each of them.”

Bilbo sighed; he should have seen this coming sooner. “All right, all right, but only as far as Bree, no further. You’ll be needed here in the Shire. And I suppose it’ll give you a chance to speak with any of the Rangers that are there.”

“Good thought. Now,” Hal motioned to the mules, “the dark dapple is Molly and the solid bay with the white socks is, um, Socks.” He made a face at that. “Well, no one ever accused Old Maggot of having imagination. The third one, the light grey, that’s mine and that’s Priss. All three are saddle and pack trained, so there should be no problem switching off. Molly and Priss are soft-walkers, so Socks may leave you a bit sore for a while. Oh, and they’re trained to a few of the basic whistles, also.”

Bilbo nodded. “That’ll be nice then. I take it you’ll be around to help out today?”

“Yep. Apple, Shando and Folco will be by later to help set up and go over last minute arrangements.”

“And approve the dwarrow?” Bilbo smiled at his friend.

“And approve the dwarrow.” Halfonse grinned back.

Time flew by as Bilbo and Halfonse swept through the smial, airing out and preparing guest rooms, making sure the boilers were working, and doing a quick cleanup of the public rooms. Apple and Shando arrived just after elevensies and began helping set tables and chairs out as well as some of the more finicky foods. Folco Bolger, round and red-cheeked as a proper hobbit should be, appeared at Bilbo’s door as the four were settling in for early tea.

“Oh bless my buttons,” Folco gasped, fanning himself with his straw boater. Apple passed him a cup of tea and a plate with several finger sandwiches and crackers. “Thank you, dear one, just what I need. Bilbo,” Folco turned from smiling at Apple to his host who was leaning back and contemplating a pipe. “Your dwarrow are heading this way. There’s one just at the bottom of the Hill asking Merry Sweetfall for directions. Not that he’ll get them,” he added, “since Damma Sweetfall took one look, grabbed her skirts and ran. Big fellow, he was, all in armor and a pair of axes the size of the Damma on his back.”

The other four nodded and exchanged looks, each mentally rehearsing the part they would play in the upcoming drama. Setting his pipe aside, Bilbo wiped his fingers on his napkin before setting it aside.

“Within the hour then; let us to it.”

 

Dwalin, son of Fundin, cursed silently as another hobbit-lass fled from him with a squeal. Really, what was wrong with these beings? Had they never seen a dwarf before? Even the innkeep and his help had been skittish around the Company, more so than around the small group of Men that had been there, sleeping in the common room by the fire, and a more disreputable group of Men he’d never seen before.

He ran one large hand over his shaved head in frustration. Cursed wizard and his cursed directions. The place was a maze, and it didn’t help that he couldn’t ask directions. At this rate the Company would make it to Erebor and back before he even found the meeting site. And why Tharkûn was insisting on a hobbit of all things as their fourteenth member. Not a one that he’d met was worth it, every one of them soft from doing nothing but a bit of gardening and the rest of the time fluttering on about doilies and tea.

Giggling from behind him gave warning that venting his thoughts out loud would not be appropriate. Dwalin turned and eyed the bushes and a trio of faces popped out from behind them. Mayhap the older ones were more trouble than they were worth, but he had to admit the little ones were cute as kittens.

Not that he had a soft spot for kittens. Or puppies. Or wee small hobbit younglings. No, not at all.

Dwalin watched patiently as the three, two lads and a lass if their clothes were anything to go by, jostled each other and egged each other on in rather loud whispers. It was one of the lads that finally stepped forward to confront him, bold as a baby deer.

“Are you lost?” the youngling asked, and Mahal wept, the big blue eyes on the lad were enough to make him hand over the last of the hard candy he had in his pouch.

Instead, he crouched down to put himself on eye level with the lad, hiding a wince as his knee popped. “Aye, lad, I believe I am. Do you think you could help me?”

The youngster studied him, a serious frown made adorable by a pouting lip. “When I’m lost I wait for my mama. Can’t your mama find you?”

“Well that’s a fine thing to do lad,” Dwalin said as quietly as he could. “Mine isn’t here though; do you think you could help me instead? I’m trying to find Bag End on Bagshot Row.” And wasn’t that a nonsensical name for a hall.

The big blue eyes got bigger and rounder. “Ooohh you’se here to see Mister Bilbo? We can show you!” The youngling motioned to his two friends.

The dwarf straightened gratefully.“I’d be in your debt if you could direct me proper.”

All three nodded and scampered off, waving at him to follow. Hoping they weren’t leading him on a gooseberry chase he followed after at a dignified clip. Thankfully, it wasn’t more than ten minutes later that the little group paused and the leader pointed out a white picket gate.

“Mister Bilbo lives there, the very top.”

Dwalin smiled, relieved that he’d arrived at last. Still smiling, he bowed his thanks to the three younglings, before moving to open the gate and pass through.

“Thank you very much for your help, young masters, young mistress.”

The two lads bowed back and the lass dropped a crooked curtsey before they waved cheerfully and called farewell, skipping back down the lane.

“Think he knows?” the lass asked her friends.

“Naw,” the quiet lad answered. “And if he does, Mistress Apple will set him straight. Race you!”

The three raced down the lane, heading back to home and supper.

Dwalin surveyed the round, green door sunk into the top of the hill, evidence of more hobbit strangeness; who would dig in the side of a hill when you could have the security of stone around you? Nevertheless he was grateful to have arrived, the prospect of a hot meal and soft bed beckoning on. Hopefully the others would be more successful in finding the place that he had been, perhaps were already here from the sound of voices he could hear echoing from inside.

Much cheered by his thoughts, he raised a fist and banged on the door.

The five friends had been laughing over Folco’s telling of a story involving a pig, a barrel of acorns and an angry Tookwife when the knock at the front came, just as Apple was seeing a white kerchief being waved from a nearby hillside. When Bilbo looked over, she nodded that it was indeed one of the dwarrow they’d been waiting for.

Standing behind the door, Bilbo fluffed his curls, straightened his waistcoat and tugged his sleeves. A second round of thumping started just as he swung open the door, as ready as he could be.

The dwarf was just as huge as Shando had said, head and shoulders over Bilbo and half again as wide. Shaved head over a huge black beard, and Bilbo could just see the haft ends of his weapons, twin axes if Shando was right. The dwarf was clad in a mix of leather and mail that had to weigh at least as much as Bilbo himself, but there was no evidence of any packs or supplies; perhaps one of his fellows had it?

Wally. It had to be. He swallowed a giggle.

“Dwalin,” the dwarf rumbled, giving a short bow, “at your service.”

Bilbo cocked his head, still eyeing the dwarf askance. “Bilbo Baggins at yours. How may I—“

The hobbit’s words were abruptly cut off as the dwarf stepped past him into his smial. Or rather, tried to, since as soon as one foot landed over the threshold, Dwalin was met with the prick of sharpened steel sliding through mail and leather like it was silk.

“Do I know you, Master Dwarf?”

Dwalin looked down, and suddenly the soft brown eyes held gold and tawny flames. Instinctively one hand went for the knife at his chest while the other went for an axe, and the prick of a second blade in the weak joint under his arm gave him pause.

“Now, Master Dwarf, I’ve just had these floors cleaned and polished, and I’d much rather not have blood on them. It stains awfully, and you end up having to replace boards.” The hobbit’s voice was light, and even to Dwalin’s ear terribly insincere. “Why don’t you just take a step back…that’s just perfect…and we’ll try this again.”

Dwalin blinked, finding himself suddenly standing just outside the door he was sure he’d just passed through. He met the inquiring eyes of the hobbit that had just opened the door, who was standing there with big brown eyes, all soft, fuzzy brown curls around pointed ears and velvet coat. There was no sign of any threat, and in fact the hobbit was starting to look at him with worry.

“Are you all right, Master Dwarf?”

He must have imagined it. “Dwalin,” he repeated, bowing again, “son of Fundin, at your service.” Too much time on the road.

The hobbit blinked. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours. I take it you’re part of Gandalf’s group?”

Dwalin nodded, cautious. There was something very not right here. “Aye. Said you’d be expecting us?”

Bilbo considered the dwarf on his doorstep. No doubt he played himself off as all muscle and no thought, but there was a brain in there and it was thinking fast. Time to distract it.

“Very good, then. Be welcome to Bag End.” Bilbo stepped back and motioned Dwalin in, hiding a smirk when the dwarf stepped over the threshold cautiously. “You can hang your cloak there, weapons in the corner or on the table and boots off please, I’ve just had the floors redone. Apple!” Bilbo called over his shoulder.

A sweetly rounded, dark haired lass popped out from a doorway, apparently in answer to the hobbit’s call.

“Apple,” Bilbo said, “could you show Master Dwalin where he can wash up and where he’ll be staying tonight? Thank you, if you’ll just follow her, Master Dwalin, we’ll get you settled and supper awaits.” Bilbo looked behind the bewildered dwarf when movement caught his eye. “Is this another of your party?”

Dwalin turned and grinned at the white-bearded dwarf with a red cloak. “Brother!” he cried out, glad he was no longer alone in this madness. In two long steps he crossed over and grasped the older dwarf’s forearms before knocking foreheads together.

Bilbo and Apple just looked at each other and shrugged. Dwarrow were just very strange beings.

“I suppose you can take them together and they can share a room. T'will save on space and clean up later, any ways.”

The elder dwarf either had better manners or was more observant, since he refrained from entering before introducing himself.

“Balin, son of Fundin,” he gave a little bow. “Brother to his lout, who I hope hasn’t given you too much grief, good master?”

“Bilbo Baggins, welcome to Bag End. Cloak here, weapons there, shoes off Master Balin, and you can accompany Mistress Apple. She was just about to show your brother to a room for refreshing. You’ve no packs with you?” Bilbo asked. Best to get that out of the way.

Balin turned from leaving a third axe propped against the wall. “No, no packs. All our gear has been left at the inn for the night.”

Bilbo frowned, what was the wizard thinking? Not that anything would happen, this was the heart of the Shire after all, but the group—pack? Herd? What does one call a group of dwarrow? They should have been warned to bring their things.

“Easily solved, Master Balin,” Bilbo assured the dwarf who was being pushed along by impatient flicks from the only hobbit lass in the smial.

Bilbo looked over his shoulder down the hall to the kitchens and waved Hal and Shando up. “Listen, run down to the Dragon and pick up all their gear, will you? Make sure the ponies or whatever are in good shape, tell Rosie to put it on my tab all right?”

“We’ll take Molly and Priss along, stretch their legs and be back a bit quicker,” said Halfonse.

Shando nodded. “And if we find any of your dwarrow lost we’ll direct them here. I’m wondering where the wizard’s got to, tho’.”

Bilbo shrugged, rather indifferent to the fate of the Grey Wizard. “I’m sure he’ll be along with one of the groups, maybe with the leader. In the meantime, hobbits, go get those packs!”

Hal and Shando scurried out the back just in time, since Bilbo’s ears were picking up the sounds of jingling metal and good natured laughing.

“I’ll be off as well, Bil, to get a start on Buckland,” said Folco, gently patting Bilbo’s shoulder. “You’ve your hands full here, I’m sure.”

Bilbo smiled back and pulled the plump hobbit into a hug. So many underestimated the gentle soul, but Bilbo and many others owed their lives to his common sense and handling of a boar spear. “Thanks, Folco. You’ll take care, of course, and make sure your Belleberry is taken care of.” He drew back and shook his finger at the other. “I expect at least two faunts to spoil by the time I get back.”

Folco laughed. “I’ll do my best, but you might want to take the long way ‘round coming home. These things take time, you know.”

The two were interrupted by rapid knocking and someone tugging the bell relentlessly. “That’s my cue. Take care on the road, Bilbo Baggins, and write us often,” Folco added as he trotted out the back door.

“Yes! Yes, I’m coming!” Bilbo shouted as another round of ringing and knocking started up.

Throwing open the door Bilbo was confronted by the two younglings he thought were brothers, a relationship more likely now that he was seeing them in person.

The dwarf on his left, tarnished gold locks in disarray, quickly bowed. “Fíli!”

The dark haired, unbearded one on the right bowed a second later. “Kíli!”

“At your service!” they chorused.

In an odd repeat of Dwalin’s arrival, the one on the left shoved a harness and pair of swords at him while the dark haired one stepped around him and started to clean his boots on _the edge of his mother’s glory box!_ In a flash Bilbo was dragging the pair of them outside by their ears while they yelped at the sudden pain.

“Is _this_ how your mother raised you? Like wild beasts? I sincerely doubt it!”

With a final twist and yank the hobbit brought the pair of dwarrow to their knees. Bilbo took in their stunned expressions and realized they were younger than he had thought under the dirt of the road. In fact, it looked like the dark-haired one—Kíli?—had tears in his eyes.

“Now,” he said, refusing to soften yet; these tweens needed to learn to behave or they’d become a nightmare on the road, not to mention a danger to themselves and others. “I am Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End. You are travelling with the wizard Gandalf?”

The pair looked at each other then back at him and nodded. There was a look of awe and anticipation on their faces that made Bilbo uneasy.

“Very good,” he said, softening his tone. “You are welcome here, but while you are a guest in my house I expect you to mind your manners. You, Fíli was it?” he pointed to the blond and waited for acknowledgment. “You will be tending the weapons of your company tonight to my satisfaction.”

Not waiting for the protest he knew would come, Bilbo turned his attention to the other. “And you are Kíli? You, young dwarf, will be cleaning boots tonight, after you clean up the mess you’ve already made.”

Encompassing them both with only a moderately stern glare, he watched them close their jaws with a pair of snaps and then nod.

“We’re sorry, Master Baggins,” Fíli said, “we meant no offense and deeply apologize for our poor manners.”

“That’s all well and good, boys, but it’s still weapons and boots for the both of you tonight. Now come along,” he offered them each a hand and pulled them up, “you can meet Mistress Apple and she’ll show you where to wash up—mind your nails and ears—and then there’s food; plenty of time for cleaning after, although I expect my hallway to be done first!”

Bilbo led the way back inside just as Apple was showing Dwalin and Balin back in to the dining room where the table was set with enough food to feed a horde of hungry hobbits let alone a dozen dwarrow.

“Mistress Apple, these are Fíli and Kíli, also traveling with that wizard. If you could show them where to go, I’ll see to the other two?” Bilbo gentled his manner even further, the blank stoicism on Apple’s face worrying at him. But instead of protesting she simply nodded and motioned for the new arrivals to follow her.

He looked after the hobbitess and the two tween dwarrow until their backs were far enough down the guest halls they likely couldn’t hear anything, then turned back to the two older dwarrow. As he feared, the larger one was blushing over a slap-reddened cheek while the older, shorter one simply looked pained.

Bilbo humphed. “Well, since she didn’t gut you where you stood it can’t have been that large an offense. What would you gentlebeings like to drink with your meal? I’ve tea, ale and some lovely red to go with it, as well as water and chilled goat’s milk if that’s your fancy,” he said, directing his guests—and he was using the term ever more loosely in his mind—to places at one end of the table.

He placed a bottle of wine and a mug of the Dragon’s best ale by their places when the door was once more assaulted.

“Eat up, gentlebeings,” Bilbo said, wiping his hands on a towel and heading for the door. “Oh, and you might mention to your compatriots to keep their wandering hands to themselves, if any tend in that direction,” he added, giving Dwalin a look that promised dire consequences.

The dwarf blushed harder.

Bilbo reached for the doorknob, convinced from the sheer amount of noise that there were definitely more than two dwarrow on his porch this time. That forewarning allowed him to swing the door open and let him deftly avoid the avalanche of dwarrow that fell through his door.

“Ah, Bilbo, good evening. We’re not late are we?”

Aaaand the wizard. Of course.

“Not at all, Gandalf,” Bilbo replied, perfectly unruffled. “Won’t you introduce your…friends?” he asked, reaching for the dwarf on top of the pile, a little bit of a thing, dwarf-wise, and clad in layer upon layer of truly lovely knits.

Once the dwarrow were untangled they sorted themselves into what appeared to be family groups. Bilbo recognized the two groups he’d identified from Apple’s drawings and made himself known to the brothers Dori, Nori and Ori (the little one in the knits), followed by the brothers Glóin and Óin (who looked nothing alike as far as he could tell), and then the two brothers Bofur and Bombur that he had spotted, with their cousin Bifur.

“Gandalf!” a pair of enthusiastic voices rang from behind Bilbo, who turned to find the very much cleaner Fíli and Kíli bouncing into the room.

“Manners!” barked Bilbo, pleased when the level of tween enthusiasm dropped. Nor did he miss the furtive glances they were casting around the room when he looked over at a much happier Apple. “Mistress Apple, if you’ll see to the young gentlebeings, I’ll get this group settled?” There was no power on Arda that would induce him to voluntarily leave Apple alone with this group.

“Right, now weapons there in that pile or on the side table, thank you. Cloaks and coats behind you on the pegs, and shoes off please. Yes, that includes you, Gandalf, and I don’t care that you knew my mother, she’d tell you the same and you know it!”

While Bilbo Baggins has never thought of himself as particularly finicky or even very proper, the sheer reek from thirteen pair of travel worn boots in his entry was enough to make him gag. Setting that issue aside for just a moment he began directing the eight dwarrow and one wizard along the guest wing, pointing out rooms and emphasizing wash facilities.

Once the dwarrow were busily engaged in cleaning up he turned to Gandalf and ushered him back down to the family side. “Your room is just as my mother left it. I aired it earlier and I believe there are still some clean clothes in the chest there,” he told the Istari. Thunder rumbled faintly overhead and Bilbo’s ears twitched. “Looks like you’ve arrived just in time. Sounds like rain within the hour.”

Gandalf frowned, “That’s not good at all. We’re still missing a member of our troupe.”

Bilbo smiled wryly, “Ah, is that what you call a group of dwarrow? I’d been wondering, and troupe does sound so much better than flock or gaggle, although they make enough noise for geese.”

He opened the door to the oversized room and ushered the wizard inside. “Here we are then, join us once you’ve cleaned up if you like.”

With a smile, Bilbo closed the door and leaned against it for a second. Twelve dwarrow and a wizard accounted for; the missing one should be the one Apple thought was a smith. She’d not gotten a good look, and what she had drawn was mostly from memory; long, hatchet nose to match long dark hair and a beard much too short for the silver she’d said was there. A disgraced dwarf, perhaps, leading a troupe of other dwarrow, to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from the Dragon Smaug.

No, it made no sense. Dwarrow honor was a twisting, turning thing from the little he knew, but no dwarrow would follow one that was disgraced. A guide? Or the wizard needed something stolen. Did he have a troupe of thieves and murderers under his roof, protected by guest rights, until tomorrow night?

His eyes narrowed, and he started back down to the entry. No, Gandalf held some respect and fondness for hobbits, so it was doubtful he’d abuse Bilbo’s hospitality so. Especially with the vulnerability of the many races that depended upon the Shire, knowing or not. If the Shire shut its borders, there would be famine across much of Eriador. Individuals of the Big Folks (and tho’ they were short as well, dwarrow were still bigger than hobbits) might offend, but hobbits understood that individuals didn’t speak for a whole race.

With a grimace, Bilbo opened the front door and started chucking shoes outside onto his porch in the early darkness. They all showed wear, some more than others, and with a thought he started to toss the cloaks outside as well. They, too, were worn; some were patched over mends while the fur on one or two of the collars was just at the edge of ratty.

A cool breeze carrying rain whipped around him and cleared the stench from his entry. And where were those two numbheads? The rain would no doubt have started over the river and be coming towards Hobbiton; it might not be a mean rain, but winter was still clinging on and it would be cold. With what he’d seen of these dwarrow so far, there was no way they were leaving in less than a week; they’d put themselves in Bilbo’s hands and he was not a hobbit to shirk his duties.

Huh. Maybe that was Gandalf’s motive—to get a proud group to accept help under the guise of not offending another race.

Cheerful chatter in a range of baritone and bass voices echoed behind him, so Bilbo put aside his scheming for a bit in favor of settling his guests. It was a very merry—and much cleaner—group that reunited with the early arrivals, and soon enough they began to relax under the influence of hobbit magic; good food, good drink and a warm hearth with close kin nearby.

Bilbo and Apple slid among them near invisibly, keeping plates and cups full until the main courses ran out and the sweet afters made an appearance. Warm tarts with sweet cream, honey buns and spicy biscuits. The hobbits noted that any biscuit left near Dwalin disappeared before anyone else could get to them, so they made sure there were extra trays for the rest of the table.

It was because it was going so well, that Bilbo simply forgot to make sure his warning to Dwalin had been passed along. And Dwalin, in his joy at seeing his kith and kin after so long apart, in front of a meal fit for a king’s table, warm, dry and on the edge of hope, forgot to pass it on.

So it was almost inevitable that one of the dwarrow would forget themselves and grab the nearest likely female around the waist to pull her on their lap.

It was Apple’s sudden stiffening that cued Bilbo something was wrong. The plate he held dropped to the floor and a tiny corner registered the crash and snap of his mother’s china and mourned the loss of another connection to her. The majority of his focus though was on lunging around the end of the table and grabbing Apple away from the dwarf with the pointy hair.

Slowed by ale, food, warmth and crowding, Bilbo was able to tuck Apple behind him before anyone could react. In a moment he had the offending dwarf stretched out across the chair back, one arm near to breaking from the angle and the point of a knife resting at the edge of a dwarven eye.

From the corner of his eye he could see Dwalin struggling to his feet, the red-haired Glóin across from Bilbo doing the same. The eldest, the white-haired Balin was making hushing motions with his hands. That one, yes, they seemed to listen to him.

“Master Balin,” Bilbo called for his attention. Instantly the room went quiet. “Is it custom among your folk to grab and grope the wife of someone you’ve just met?”

The room was filled with a chorus of hisses and mutters. The dwarf under his blade flinched a little and rolled his eyes at the group.

“No, it’s not.”


	3. Meet the 'Rents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful responses. A little resolution and a few more puzzles.

 

(In Which We Meet the Last Dwarf of Significance, and the Author Indulges Her Penchant for the Obscure)

The voice that answered was definitely not Balin’s, and Bilbo looked up into ice blue eyes framed by a frost touched black mane. The face was sharply planed, with a nose nearly as narrow as a Man’s and the close shorn beard he’d puzzled over. He was taller than Bilbo but shorter that Dwalin, who towered over all of them except Gandalf, and the furred coat gave him bulk and protection. This would be the missing dwarf, the one Apple had not drawn fully but remembered as a wandering smith.

“Then again, we also don’t steal from our guests,” he added dryly, reaching around the corner and shoving Halfonse and Shando into the room.

“Sorry, Bil,” Hal said sheepishly before studying the ground.

Bilbo suspected the mutters from Shando were something along the same line, but since the hobbit was too busy wringing his kerchief to look up it was hard to tell.

Gandalf stepped around the corner then, no doubt ready to ease the situation. “Ah, yes, I didn’t think you’d heard Thorin knock so I took the liberty of answering for you, Bilbo.”

“Gandalf,” Bilbo asked, blade still unmoving and dwarf still stretched out in front of him, “are you going to be with us on this little trip?”

The wizard harrumphed in reply. “Well for a bit of it anyways. To start out, and I’m sure I’ll be able to pop in on occasion, of course.”

“Then sit down.” The _and be silent_ rang easily in the air

Gandalf huffed but sat, then took in the tableau and a look of intrigue crossed his face.

Blue eyes never left brown while the new dwarf spoke to the crowd. “I was heading back to our rooms at the inn when I spotted these two dragging our packs with all of our possessions out of them.” He gestured at Hal and Shando. “They claimed they were simply bringing our things to Bag End on Mr. Baggins orders. That’s you, I suppose?” One eyebrow quirked up and the newest dwarf bowed his head mockingly.

“Bilbo Baggins, a pleasure,” Bilbo inclined his head to the exact degree. “Of course you have the advantage of me, gentlebeing.”

“Thorin, called Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. Previously of Erebor. It seems we have come to an impasse, hobbit.”

Bilbo snorted. “Hardly. Master Dwalin, did you convey my warning to the members of your group?”

Dwalin still stood at the end of the table, caught in a flush that was half anger, half mortification. “Um, no,” he sighed, “no Master Baggins, I clean forgot to mention anything. My deepest apologies, Mistress Apple, if my error has harmed you.” He finished with a respectful bow in the hobbitess’ direction.

To Bilbo’s smirking amusement and Shando’s dropped-jawed gawking Apple flushed under the attention before making a little waving off gesture and dipped a half-curtsey in return.

“Your forfeit, Master Dwalin, will be to serve Mistress Apple from sunrise tomorrow until sunset.” Bilbo was interrupted by Halfonse breaking into hysterical laughter, not quelled in the slightest by Bilbo’s frown or Shando's elbow. “I understand there’s winter damage to one of her fences, and a bit of ironwork required on some hinges.” He cocked an eyebrow and Apple, who nodded her agreement. “And if that passes too quickly I’m sure there’s other things she can find for you to do.”

“As for this fine fellow,” he let go of the dwarf’s arm and slowly withdrew the knife, “as long as he returns my salt cellar and snuffbox before leaving we’ll be fine.”

“Nori!”

The dwarf, Nori apparently, sighed and dropped the two items on the table. “Was only practicing,” he muttered.

Bilbo patted him on the shoulder. “I quite understand, and feel free to keep the spoons, I’ve plenty more.”

“Bilbo!” Shando squawked from the doorway, “Not your spoons!”

“Oh pish! You know I only fuss over them to keep Lobelia on her toes; the things are ugly as sin, I’ve no earthly idea why she’d want them.”

“That’s all well and entertaining, but you’ll need to find another recompense as we’ll be leaving in the morning,” growled the newcomer.

The dwarf stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of his weapon, and there was something about him that niggled at the back of Bilbo’s mind. Something familiar, either about him or his name, or perhaps just the way he was standing…standing!

“Shoes!” Bilbo shrieked, charging at the troupe’s leader, waving his arms.

The dwarf jumped back, startled by the mad thing charging at him. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, ready to protect himself from the unpredictable creature. The hobbit ran up to him and grabbed his arm, tugging Thorin back a few steps into the entry way. Thorin looked over at Gandalf for an explanation, only to find the wizard smirking up at a cloud of smoke.

“Shoes off, weapons over there, and I’ll take your coat,” the hobbit began stripping his coat off of him while speaking.

Bewildered, Thorin looked down and realized that every one of his company were without boots. He glared at Dwalin, his shield brother, dearest companion since childhood and fiercest warrior he had ever met, who gave him a sheepish grin and a shrug back before returning to his bench and speaking across the table to Balin.

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the still giggling Hal and addressed Shando instead. “Where are their packs now?”

“Back in our rooms at the inn,” growled Thorin, suddenly trying to figure out why he was removing his boots.

“I have them here, Bil,” Folco’s unexpected voice turned everyone in the entry towards the door, where Folco Bolger was dropping the first of a pile of luggage from outside to inside. “I saw these two leaving the inn in the company of Master Dwarf here and realized they’d stuffed it up.” Folco waggled a finger at the protesting duo. “Also, you’ll need to replace one of the ponies,” he said to Thorin.

“What! Why? They were in good shape when we purchased them. If that Man at the inn….”

“None of that now!” Bilbo interrupted, “Fearny looks like an evil thug but he’s a way with the ponies and would never harm them.”

“Bilbo’s right, lad,” Folco said, dropping another pair of bags in the corner. He reached for his kerchief and blotted his brow. “No, little Goldie is carrying; there’s no way she’ll be able to go any distance. Just found out about it,” he added to Bilbo.

“Hmm, all right, we’ll swap out Priss for Goldie,” Bilbo said, looking over his shoulder at Halfonse. “Sorry, Hal, but it’s too late to find another one to swap Goldie for.” Bilbo tossed a dumbstruck Thorin’s boots and cloak onto the porch with the rest. “Hal, can you and Shando take these to the large workroom and start unpacking?”

The two hobbits cheerfully loaded up and started shuffling down the public hallway to the rear of the smial, jostling each other as they went.

Bilbo turned to Folco and put a hand on his shoulder in gratitude. “Thank you so much, Folco, I know it was out of your way. Will you be staying on at the Dragon tonight? Or would you rather stay here?” he asked, standing at the door.

“No, I left the trap down at the Gamgee’s and I’ll be staying there. Already sent one of the lads with a message, so Belleberry knows not to expect me. You take care and come back to us, eh?”

“You know I will,” Bilbo smiled gently and waved at the huffing hobbit making his way down the lane to the lights at the bottom of the hill.

“What,” demanded the increasingly irritable Thorin Oakenshield from behind him, “is going on here?”

Bilbo turned back around from shutting the door firmly and smiled gently. “Why, dinner, Master Oakenshield.”

Thorin was into the dining room and seated at the end of the table with an assortment of hot food before him that made his stomach growl before he had time to blink. It had been a long time since breakfast and he’d been traveling hard since. The stop in Bree had been near a week past, and that only to gather the Company together. It was Gandalf who’d insisted on this detour to ward off the ill luck that journeying with thirteen would bring, rather than finding another dwarf on the way to hire.

Thorin nodded his thanks at the hobbit who was pouring a warm, mulled wine into a heavy cup before he turned his attention to his plate of tender chops, potatoes in some kind of cheese sauce with tiny bits of green herbs in it. Next to it was a thick soup with several rolls and two small pies, one savory with chicken and one sweet with berries and heavy cream. It was a meal such as he hadn’t seen in many a year and he savored every bite.

The rest of the Company as well as the wizard gathered around the table, some relaxing with a pint, some more focused on their pipe. He watched as the hobbitess that had been the cause of the earlier kerfuffle passed a container of leaf around while their host tended to drinks. He knew that even though they both appeared fixed on their tasks that they were both aware of what was happening around them.

Thorin paused, chewing thoughtfully; they were _aware_ , so how was it the hobbitess was caught off guard by Nori? He flicked his gaze over to the dwarf in question, included both as a courtesy to the line of Ri and because the dwarf had a genuine talent for finding information. That dwarf was leaning back in the shadows, slowly puffing with eyes half closed, looking every bit the content dwarf the rest of them did, unless one caught the gleam from under his eyelids.

It was Balin that finally addressed the goat on the table, settling next to Thorin. “What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?”

Thorin nodded. “Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.”

“All?” cut in Dwalin. “And what did they say? Are they with us?”

Thorin swallowed before drinking deeply. Surprised at the depth of the ale in his cup he studied it before shaking his head slowly. “No. They will not come. They say the quest is ours and ours alone.”

“Surely Dáin and the Iron Hills are with us—he’s your closest kin, never say he turned you down,” exclaimed Dwalin.

“Dáin only said he would aid us afterwards, for better or worse,” Thorin answered. It still angered him that his kin would not reach out a hand, but in a way he could also understand it better than any of the others except perhaps Balin. Dáin had his own people to look out for, and an oath to protect them did not generally include throwing them into the path of a rampaging dragon.

“There’s an empty offer.” Bilbo slid into a seat next to Dwalin. “If it’s for better, you won’t need him and if it’s for worse you won’t need him.”

“What do you mean by that, Master Baggins?” the white-bearded dwarf had an edge to his voice.

Bilbo leaned back and accepted his pipe from Apple, smiling at her gently. “Thank you, my dear; why don’t you take my room and lie down, Shando will be another hour or two and I’ll likely be busy myself.”

He kissed the back of her hand gently before giving it a pat. It didn’t escape him that she glanced over at Dwalin before she glided out of the room on silent feet. Nor had it escaped him that she’d tended to hover over the big dwarf’s end of the table while they were serving and passing. That the dwarf had lingered on her when she passed by was not missed either. It was a hopeful sign.

“You have a lovely wife, Master Baggins,” Thorin commented as Apple disappeared. There was a glint in the dwarf’s eyes that might have been humor. Or just poor lighting.

Bilbo leaned back and inhaled his pipe, the sweet smoke turning fiery in his mouth before mellowing. “Oh she’s not my Damma, simply kind enough to play hostess when this old bachelor needs one.”

Bilbo concentrated on his pipe and smoke rings for a few minutes, until Thorin finished eating. As he got up to clear away dishes, Gandalf slid into his place, managing to not look ridiculous in the hobbit sized furniture.

“A bit more light, if you please, Bilbo,” Gandalf called over his shoulder.

Bilbo answered by lighting a pair of candles off the hanging lantern and setting them on the table near the wizard. He watched carefully while the wizard pulled out a folded parchment revealed to be a map of the East. Looking over Gandalf’s shoulder he picked out the larger features of Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, Dale and…ah, yes, Erebor.

“ ‘The Lonely Mountain’, “ he read off quietly.

“Aye,” interrupted one of the red-haired dwarrow, “Óin here has read the portents, says it’s time.”

The dwarf with the ear-trumpet—Óin, Bilbo presumed—thumped a fist on the table. “Ravens are returning to the mountain as was foretold. When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast shall end.”

Bilbo clucked and shook his head. “A beast, eh? Well that sounds most promising for all of you. Here’s hoping he abdicates quietly.”

“Not likely,” chimed in the dwarf with the hat and the dimples. “This ain’t no common beastie, this is Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. A raging, air-borne, fire breather, with claws like meat hooks and teeth like razors. GrrrrAWRR,” he clawed at the air towards Bilbo, but whether that was for making the point or an attempt to make the hobbit jump, Bilbo wasn’t sure.

The little one in the lovely knits jumped up. “I ain’t afraid, I’ll give ‘im a taste of Dwarvish iron right up ‘is jacksie!”

Bilbo cast a quick prayer to Yavanna that he was looking suitably impressed by the lad, even while the rest of the group were pulling him down.

The old one leaned forward, concern wrinkling his face even further. “This would be difficult even with an army; we number only thirteen. And not necessarily our best and brightest, either.”

The blond tween cut in, “But we’re fighters, all of us.”

“And don’t forget we’ve a wizard!” his brother jumped up in excitement. “I’ll bet Gandalf has killed hundreds of dragons with his magic! Haven’t you, Gandalf!”

Amid the shouted questions and roars of approval Bilbo found a moment to smirk at the discomfort on the wizard’s face while he tried to weasel his way out. Serve the old geezer right to be put on the spot. If he’d spent more time doing and less time getting others to do for him, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Wizards were the hands of the Valar on Arda, and as far as hobbits were concerned grown hands are made for doing, not looking soft and pretty.

“Shazara!” Thorin rose at the end of the table, his voice cutting across the rising chatter. “If Óin was able to read these signs do you not think others will have as well? There are rumors and whispers running among Men and Dwarrow; the dragon Smaug has not been seen for near sixty years, and ours are not the only eyes to look east to the mountain, weighing the risk. They ask if our vast wealth lies unprotected, our home abandoned. Shall we then sit back, let others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back our homes, take back Erebor? I say, Du Bekar! Du Bekar!”

Through the cheering the white-bearded dwarf cut in. “That’s all well and good, Thorin, and you know I’m with you all the way but the gate is blocked; there’s no way in except through the dragon’s own mouth.”

Gandalf leaned forward, “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

From out of nowhere (although Bilbo suspected his sleeve) the wizard suddenly held a heavy bronze key, ornately carved and distinctly dwarven in style. He flipped it over and presented it to Thorin with a flourish.

Bilbo found himself mildly impressed by the glare Thorin leveled at the wizard.

“Where did you get that?” the dwarf demanded.

“While traveling through the Mirkwood I passed through Dol Guldur. There, I ran across a dwarf, very old, and sadly, ill unto death. I did what I could for him, but he was too far into the next world. He asked me to pass the map and key on to his beloved son; it is only recently that I knew that son…was you.”

The older tween (Bilbo decided he really did need to start learning names) interjected, “If there is a key then there must be a door.”

“Aye,” Gandalf nodded towards the blond dwarf. “The map indicates there is a hidden entrance to Erebor. Alas, runes are not my area of study, although I can tell there is a hidden message that may give the direction of the door this key opens. There are others that can tell you better what it means.”

“You do not number an army,” Gandalf continued, “but while you lack force of arms to win your goal, it is possible stealth will serve in its place.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Knit-kitten was bouncing with excitement.

“And a good one, I’d expect,” Bilbo added absently, leaning back in a chair in the corner and studying the roof while he chewed the end of his pipe.

There was a good ten seconds of silence while the rest of the room realized Bilbo was still there, even though he’d been sitting in plain sight since the discussion started.

“Well?” demanded the red-head related to ear-trumpet.

“Well, what?” Bilbo returned mildly.

“Are you an expert?”

Bilbo let his chair drop back down to the floor while he looked at the spluttering dwarf. “If I was, I’d hardly admit to it now, would I? Besides,” he added, “I don’t see why you would need me when you have a perfectly good one right there.” He pointed with the end of his pipe right at the dwarf he’d threatened earlier.

Rumbling protests started up from the other end of the table, cut short by Gandalf rising to his full height in the tiny room. Shadows crawled out of the corner and swirled around him and the air thickened with power and lightening.

“Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!”

Stunned silence met Gandalf’s proclamation. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet, and can, in fact, pass unseen should they wish it. Furthermore, while the dragon will be familiar with the scent and sound of Men, Elves, and Dwarfs, he will have never before encountered hobbits as they never leave the Shire beyond Bree. You have asked me to find a fourteenth member of your party, and for these and many other reasons, I have chosen Mister Baggins.”

The entire room had fallen still and solemn by the end of Gandalf’s speech, most of them wary of the power they hadn’t realized the old wizard wielded. Into the ringing silence, Bilbo snorted.

“You’re an idiot,” he said calmly, poking the wizard in the shoulder with his pipe stem. “I’d think by now you’d realize you can call a fox a hound but you can’t make him course.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Thorin questioned, scowling at the two non-dwarrow.

“Pretty much exactly what I said,” Bilbo answered, smiling gently and ignoring the spluttering wizard.

Thorin sighed. “Very well; Balin, give him the contract.”

The white-bearded dwarf pulled a thick roll of parchment from inside his vest, passing it over to Bilbo. For his part, Bilbo unrolled the first few feet and scanned it, already knowing there was no possibility he was going to agree to the terms in it.

“Very good,” he said, rolling it back up and rising from the table. “Gentlebeings, it has been a very busy day for us all, so retire when you’re ready and please, please feel free to make extensive use of the bathing facilities; even with fourteen of you there should not be an issue with hot water. Master Oakenshield,” he turned to the dwarf in question, “if you’ll come with me I’ll show you to your room. Keep in mind, first breakfast is around seven, and Gandalf I’ve a lovely new tea I think you’ll enjoy.” He waved the contract at Balin, “I’ll just have my law hobbit look this over tomorrow morning and we can negotiate the problem areas, yes?”

“Yes, yes of course. Um…”

“Master Baggins,” Thorin cut in, “we thank you for your hospitality, but we plan to be on the road at first light, if not before.”

Bilbo blinked at the dwarf. “Oh, oh I don’t think so—unless you’re telling me that a dwarf’s word is worthless, in which case why bother with a contract at all?”

“A dwarf’s word is stone solid, Master Baggins, and anyone who says otherwise is lying,” growled Thorin.

“Those two youngsters right there owe me several hours of work for damages to my property, and I'm sure you recall that one there owes Mistress Apple for his failure to communicate basic courtesies he was asked to pass along, subjecting her to severe distress. All of them agreed to this, so the earliest you’ll be free to leave is the day after. Unless you plan on leaving them here?”

Thorin frowned at his sister-sons and right hand. He had no problem leaving Fíli and Kíli here; they would be safe, and he was sure if asked the hobbit would find a way to keep them in the Shire. Traveling this road without his shield brother was another matter. It would, after all, only delay them one day, and if it made for a more harmonious group that was well rested, all the better.

“I was not aware my nephews owed you penance as well. In that case, we will be glad of your hospitality, Master Baggins,” he said, rising to allow the hobbit to show him to his room. The last glance he threw over his shoulder spelled out ‘behave’ in no uncertain terms. “I hope they did not offend too deeply?”

“No, no, nothing of the kind,” Bilbo answered airily. He led the dwarf to a room in the family wing, across from Gandalf. Not that the dwarf would know the difference. “Simply high-spirited tween-ness, no worse than I’ve seen before, but they need to pay forfeit for it and learn their lesson before it becomes a more serious offense to others. I’m sure you understand, Master Oakenshield.” He opened the door and stepped back to allow the other entrance. “Now, Gandalf is just across the way, and my room is at the end of the hall. Apple is there waiting for her brother and resting, but if you need anything, knock and she’ll summon me.”

Thorin frowned. “And what of yourself, Master Baggins? Have you put yourself out for us?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Not particularly. If you leave your clothing just outside the door I’ll see to having it cleaned and a change here by morning. Facilities are that room there, feel free to avail yourself.”

Bilbo moved about the room, quickly lighting a pair of candles from his own before leaving. “Sleep peacefully, Master Oakenshield,” he added before closing the door, leaving himself alone in the hallway.

On silent feet he moved through the smial’s winding hallways deep into the hill until he had looped around and was once more in the private work areas. He heard Halfonse and Shando well before he saw the light from the room they were working in bleeding into the hallway.

When he stood in the doorway and looked in, it was if a shop had exploded. Everything had been sorted into piles of like items, with a mound of empty packs and bags in a corner of the room. Blankets and clothing had been sorted and tagged, food separated and a stack of collapsed water skins lay in a pathetic pile nearby. There was cooking gear and tinder boxes, and bundles of herbs and bandages lay on a separate table. Nearby was a careful selection of what appeared to be personal items, also tagged as to their owners.

“You’ve been a pair of right busy beavers, haven’t you?”

The other two jumped before looking back at him.

“Oy! Must you do that, Bil?” asked Halfonse.

“Yes, I must,” Bilbo answered absently, crossing the room. It looked like the other two were huddled over a pile of parchment, the chicken scratches Shando called writing scrawled across several pages. “Someday, Shando, someone is going to go west instead of east because they can’t read your writing and we'll never see them again. How bad is it?”

“Not bad.”

“Horrible.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and breathed deep. It had been a long, horrible day for all of them, although perhaps slightly less so for the clown princes as they hadn’t had to deal with the dwarrow directly. Still, they’d missed meals and had to be starving by now.

“Which is it? No! You talk!” Bilbo pointed at Hal then wagged his finger at Shando. “You be silent.”

Shando closed his mouth with a snap and glowered at Hal who laughed and slapped Shando’s back. “Oh, it’s not so bad as that.”

He waved Bilbo over to the piles of clothing and blankets. “For the most part the things that are meant to be long lasting, like tinderboxes and such, are well made and maintained if old; likely heirlooms made by master craftsmen, but then we’re talking dwarrow here. Things like clothes and blankets, cloaks and bedrolls and such, show a wide range of quality and care. See here?”

Hal picked up a blotchy grey and green blanket and shook it out. “The wool is harsh and the tears mended poorly, although the material would work well as a lining for something heavier. Many are like that.” He looked up at Bilbo soberly. “I’d guess that you’ve a wide range of social classes, from the muchly mucks like this Glóin,” he pointed to a tag on a warm, heavy cape with fur trim on the hood, “to this poor fellow here, looks like he’s just scraping along, this Ori.”

‘Ori’ was the tag on a thin blanket of different scraps of yarn knit together, and now Bilbo knew the name of his little knit-kitten.

“Is there good news?” he sighed.

“Of course!” cut in Shando, unable to remain still a moment longer. “This one, Óin—likely some relative of that Glóin—looks a competent healer, but could use some fresher herbs and some of the ones he’s got should very much not be used on hobbits. And he’s short on bandages, could use a couple more needles and such, and his bilberry powder is low. But see here?” Shando shoved a jar of some kind of white creamy stuff with a minty clean smell under Bilbo’s nose, close enough he went cross-eyed. “It’s got some kind of numbing herb in it; think how much nicer it would be if you could stitch someone who couldn’t feel it. Bilbo, you’ve got to find out what’s in it!”

Bilbo shoved the jar back and blinked tears out of his eyes. “I’ll do my very, very best, Shando. What else?”

Hal shook his head, “Not much else. Really, they’ve only basic supplies for no more than a week in the summer, let alone spring and heading into the mountains. Quality is iffy, and more than a little of it needs washing and repair.”

Bilbo sighed; this was what he was afraid of. Desperate dwarrow on a desperate quest, and who knew what nonsense the wizard was encouraging them with. Then again, maybe it was that desperation that had Gandalf lead them here. The Shire certainly knew desperation, the sight and sound and taste and smell of it. It sounded like wolves and tasted like bitter snow, it smelt like dying and looked like blinding, blinding white. Yes, desperation was a familiar thing.

“All right, I’m fairly sure I can get us a week’s delay. Shando, find the cleanest clothes you can for them all, and if you need to, break open our stores though I’m not sure we’ve much that will fit. I’ll take the dirty stuff down to the washroom and get it soaking; once it’s washed we’ll see about repair. Hal, here,” Bilbo handed over a keyring, several keys jangling. “Tomorrow morning, get into the strongbox and start shopping. Take some of the others, and if there are a few likely for the Faunts, bring them also, see how they handle our guests.”

Hal looked over the list again, “Some of this we’re likely better off getting in Bree. And if there’s any forge work, could be your dwarrow would rather do it themselves if you let them know what you want. I think the smithy here wouldn’t mind if they took over in exchange for some repair work. Balderosh is good enough for little repairs, but the big ones he usually has one of the tinkers do or sends to Bree anyways.”

“The leader is a touchy blighter, more hair and pride than anything, but I think I can work something out with him.” Bilbo sighed. “I just wish I had more of a handle on Gandalf.”

Hal clapped him on the back. “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

Bilbo snorted, “Before I’m too close to dead for it to matter, I hope. Now let’s settle the laundry and get some sleep; we’ve all a long week ahead.”

 


	4. Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than I wanted but the best break point.

 

(In Which We Observe the Undramatic Morning After the Night Before)

 

When Bilbo finally woke the sun was well up and it was just about time for a late second breakfast. He left the room next to his own and knocked softly, entering his own rooms when no one answered and he found the door unlocked. From there it was only a few minutes before he was groomed for the rest of the morning.

Once again a gentlehobbit of the Shire, Bilbo strolled towards the sound of clanking and conversation. He discovered the source when he found the public rooms of his smial overrun with twelve disgruntled dwarrow and a wizard, although it was obvious the bunch of them were much cleaner and better rested than when they had appeared on his doorstep the day before.

“Good morning, gentlebeings, is there second breakfast left?” Bilbo asked mildly.

“Ah, Bilbo! Good morning-ahem! That is to say, rather…yes, well, we’ve not yet begun to attempt second breakfast, seeing as these good dwarrow rather cleaned out your pantry last night.”

It was funny to see Gandalf stumbling over his words, knowing that Bilbo was likely to throw his ‘good morning’ back at him, much the way Gandalf had tried to do just yesterday.

“Really, Gandalf, you should know better by now, your little stunt only emptied my front pantries. And aren’t you missing someone?”

“Front pantries?” Burst out the blond tween sitting by the fire.

“There’s more?” Asked the dark one.

Bilbo held his hands out and waved for quiet. “All right, just a moment. Now in the rush I’ve gotten a number of names mixed in my head, so let me check I know you all, ready?”

He waited a moment for them to settle down then started.

“Thorin Oakenshield, esteemed leader of the troupe.” Thorin stood and bowed.

“Master Dwalin? Yes? Is the one missing, big one, shaved head?” Wally. Snerf.

“Indeed. Taken off by a pair of hobbits this morning, Mistress Apple and one I’d take for a brother or other close kin. Balin, at your service, Master Baggins,” Balin added with a nod.

“A pleasure, Master Balin,” Bilbo nodded back. “And then these two here, which are which?” He pointed to the two youngest, sitting at Thorin’s feet.

“Fíli,” said the blond.

“Kíli,” said the brunet.

They sprang up and bowed, “At your service.”

“Yes, you certainly will be, right after breakfast. Now, you would be Glóin and Óin?” He focused on the red-haired dwarf and the oldest one with the ear trumpet. In daylight he could see a resemblance now around the eyes and nose, the shape of their ears, although Óin’s hair had long ago faded to steel and silver.

“Aye, lad, Glóin and Óin, sons of Gróin, at yer service. Don’t mind Óin he left his trumpet in the very fine room ye’ve loaned us.”

“An honor and a pleasure, Master Glóin. May I inquire if Master Óin is the healer for your party?”

“Healer? Someone needs a healer?” The older Óin started up.

“No! He asked if you were a healer!” Glóin shouted into his brother’s ear.

Bilbo had the suspicion that Óin’s hearing was much better than he let on, possibly even selective in nature.

“I would like a few minutes of your time, later today or possibly tomorrow, Master Óin.”

Óin’s eyes twinkled at the hobbit. “Of course, whenever you’re ready, Master Hobbit.”

Case in point.

“Now you three,” he said, pointing to the group with his knit-kitten and the handsy one, “are obviously kin. You are Ori,” shifting to his little knit-kitten, “but I’m not sure Gandalf ever mentioned your names.”

A silver-haired dwarf with elaborate braids stood and bowed, hand over breast, “Dori, at your service; my brothers Nori,” the handsy one with pointy hair, “and may I make you formally known to Ori.”

Nori grinned and nodded while Ori ducked his head and smiled shyly. Bilbo returned Dori’s bow while wondering if Ori was actually the youngest or just the most sheltered. That could be trouble either way.

The dwarf with the hat and dimples was grinning when Bilbo finally turned to them. “Bofur,” he said, pointing at himself, “me brother Bombur, company cook” and wasn’t Bombur a fine, healthy figure of a dwarf, “and our cousin Bifur. Don’t mind him, his wound gives him some problems speaking sometimes, but he’s still handy in a fight.”

The dwarf had an axe. In his head. An axe stuck in his head and the handle broken off. From the scarring it had been there a while, too. The hardiness of dwarrow was obviously amazing. He would have to remember to duck behind them in a fight. Wally seemed a likely choice for shield.

“Bilbo Baggins, welcome to Bag End,” he bowed to the last group. “Now, let’s get second breakfast underway so we can get things moving along.”

With that he pattered into the kitchen to find it as clean as he could desire. Whether someone had been in during the night or the dwarrow had done it after he’d left them, he really didn’t care. It was the work of minutes to open his untouched second larder and begin pulling out baskets of eggs, cheeses, bacon and sausage. There were fresh scones, still warm from being wrapped, so he knew the Gamgees had been in and out recently with typical hobbit silence.

Coming out he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Fíli and Kíli seated at the table with a bewildered Ori sandwiched between them.

“Did you boys need something?” Bilbo asked mildly, starting to crack eggs in a bowl.

“Uncle’s in a bit of a mood this morning,” Fíli started with after being poked by Kíli.

“So we thought it’d be safer in here.”

“Now that you’re here to protect us.”

Bilbo looked at Ori, “Do they do this a lot?”

Ori looked back a bit helplessly before he nodded.

Bilbo set the meats to cooking before he turned back to the three of them. “Master Kíli, once you have sorted out the group’s weaponry, and I do mean all of it, cleaned, sharpened and repaired if needed; oh and check the harness with it, bad to have a buckle fail at the wrong time if you know what I mean. After, I have some others I’d like you to check over.”

He looked the dwarfish lad up and down. “I am, of course, assuming you’ve some basic skill in the matter, considering the blades you’re carrying.”

Kíli laughed while Fíli blushed and spluttered. “Some! Uncle taught me everything and he’s the greatest weaponscrafter in the world!”

“I thank you for the praise, Fíli, but I’m sure there are others my equal and there is always someone better. It’s why we continue to study our craft all our lives,” Thorin Oakenshield nodded to his blond nephew from the doorway.

“Uncle?” Bilbo questioned softly, deftly chopping peppers and onions to add to the eggs.

“Aye, I do have to claim blood relation to the two miscreants. Kíli put that down!”

Bilbo looked up in time to see Kíli return four mugs to the table. He paused in his chopping to give the younger dwarf a considering look, then shook his head and went back to his preparations.

“You already have to clean my entry, polish my mother’s glory box, and clean the mud off everyone’s boots. Did you really want to add washing dishes and mopping the floor to it?”

The brunet slumped in his chair and pouted. “I thought maybe you’d forgot.”

“You hoped,” teased Fíli.

“And why do you get weapons? Your boots were as muddy as mine!”

“I didn’t wipe where I shouldn’t!”

“Boys!” cut in Thorin. “You’ve gotten caught, pay the penalty. Dwalin didn’t complain when he left this morning did he? Likely he’ll have more and worse to do.”

“ _He_ got dragged away by the lovely Mistress Apple—and I didn’t see her having to do too much dragging from the looks Dwalin was giving her,” said Fíli. He and Kíli exchanged grins over Ori’s head.

Bilbo plated up the meats, stacked up the scones and poured his egg and vegetable mixture into the pan, topping it with a generous handful of cheese. “And you, Master Ori, how do you find yourself in the company of these two this morning?”

Ori’s eyes bugged out at being addressed and he quickly covered his mouth with both hands and shrank down a little. If he muttered an answer, it was too muffled to be heard.

“Speaking of which,” Thorin started, stepping all the way in to the kitchen finally, “I think we need to discuss—“

“Breakfast!” Bilbo sang out, before turning to the three at the table. “Dishes and silverware, lads.”

The three jumped up and scampered to the cabinets to pull down plates and silver. In the melee, Bilbo gently pulled Ori aside by an elbow for just a moment.

“Master Ori, are you the one that does this wonderful knitting?” Bilbo asked, tapping the back of one of the fingerless gloves the dwarf was wearing.

Wide-eyed and tongue-tied, Ori nodded his head.

“Wonderful! After breakfast you and I will trot down to Madame Amaryllis and see about yarns and such; I’d like to commission a number of pairs from you if I may?”

When the lad nodded again, shy smile peeking out, Bilbo answered with a smile of his own and let him scamper off with the handful of forks.

By the time it was set and the dwarrow—and one wizard--assembled, the light fare that made up second breakfast was steaming on the table. Piles of sausage and bacon, thick slices of ham, scones and cheeses, fluffy eggs, tea, milk and water were passed around and disappeared as quickly as dinner had last night.

Bilbo watched them all from a stool in the corner where he sat sipping tea and nibbling at his own plate. He knew he’d pay for lack of appetite later but promised his stomach to make up for it at elevensies and lunch, and then perhaps a nice peaceful pipe in the tree out back. The one with enough leaves to keep him completely hidden. Yes, that sounded like just the thing. And maybe a stampede or two of faunts to throw things out of whack a tad further. He could drag the negotiations on for at least two days, which would give him time to tie up these reckless dwarrow with the tailors and bootmakers, as well as send down to Bree to have a few extra supplies ready. That should do nicely.

While they were still distracted, Bilbo slipped away and dug out a basket of cleaning supplies for the floor, another for tending to the boots on the porch, a third with rags, polishes and stones for weapons, and a pair of empty ones for shopping. He set the three filled ones in front of Fíli and Kíli.

“Leather there, floor and wood there, weapons there. Master Ori, when you are finished I shall await you out front at your leisure.” He nodded and left the dwarrow to finish.

“Ori!” hissed Dori as soon as Bilbo left the room. “Where do you think you’re going with the hobbit? How do we even know he can be trusted?”

“Wool!” piped in Kíli.

“What?” said Nori, baffled.

“They’re going for knitting wool,” Fíli pointed to Ori’s gloves. “I think he wants Ori to make him some gloves.”

“What! Making clothing! They’ve only just met!” Dori was near quaking in outrage.

“Peace, Master Dori, it is not what you’re thinking. I believe Bilbo will likely be hiring your brother to make several things for him; that is his way,” Gandalf interrupted the dwarf before he could storm out of the room.

“Did someone say knitting?”

“Bilbo’s not trying to knit again is he?”

The pair of new voices came from the kitchen door to the garden. The blond and brunet hobbit pair from last night waltzed in, each carrying a pair of covered baskets.

“Last time he tried it looked like he’d been swallowed by a sheep.”

“Our Bilbo is handy at many things, but knitting is very much not one of them,” finished the blond. “Didn’t get the chance last night, but Halfonse Took, at your service,” he bowed a little.

“Shando Chook, a pleasure gentlebeings. We got off a bit on the wrong foot last night, so thought we should introduce ourselves proper. Are those Madame Gamgee’s scones?” Shando rattled off his introduction while he snatched one of the still soft dabs of goodness off the plate and bit into it. “Oh yeth, mmmm.”

Balin looked at the pair of hobbits. His head swiveled slowly to look at the pair of princes. His eyes grew large and his face pale. He looked between the four once again before he turned to Thorin.

“We’re doomed.”

Halfonse threw back his head and laughed.

 


	5. Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long. Really long. Very, very sorry, but hopefully some questions get answered. Or, maybe they don't.
> 
> This is the copy of the contract I'm using. There are some very interesting terms. https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1mS_SjPW9bgdzZTSGx3Ty1qVFE/edit?pli=1
> 
> Noodle tree: http://hoaxes.org/archive/permalink/the_swiss_spaghetti_harvest
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and kind words.

Diplomacy

(In Which We See a Contract Finally Signed

Or

The Real Reason Thorin is Sooo Grumpy)

 

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, called Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain in Exile was ready to kill something.

He might have been his father’s heir, but diplomacy was never something he’d been good at. Put an enemy—an army!—in his way and he could rally and command troops, inspiring them in the face of overwhelming odds until victory was theirs. But for some reason, he’d never been able to command that same eloquence at the bargaining table. He understood the necessity of trade, but could not grasp the intricacies that made it happen. What did it matter what some lord among Men wore to a party three weeks past? What bearing did that have on whether his people ate well or poorly through the winter?

His brother and sister, Frerin and Dís, had both laughed at him over his complaints at having to dance social dances. He’d rather hammer his way through a trough of pig-iron than face someone over the bargaining table. His siblings had many times been able to help him, but neither were there now. Frerin lay in the stone and Dís was watching over Ered Luin and the rest of Erebor in Exile.

Fortunately, he had Balin and the wizard here to help him negotiate the contract with the burglar Gandalf insisted Thorin take with the Company. It had been four days of straight negotiations with nearly every line of Balin’s carefully written contract torn apart, argued over, re-written, and then amended again with the very next line.

Balin was in ecstasy, leaving each round of negotiations practically giddy. At every break he blathered on and on about the hobbit’s brilliant negotiating skills, and how if he dealt with the dragon like this Erebor would be theirs by Trewsday. The dwarf was the oldest among them by many years and he was practically skipping!

_Balin was browsing through the collection of books and scrolls that lined the walls and overflowed the shelves of the small study while he waited for their potential burglar to join him. Master Baggins had disappeared for a good portion of their first day in the Shire, so the start of negotiations had to be delayed. The hobbit had claimed he had stopped by his law-hobbit while he and Ori were at the market, but under later questioning Ori didn’t recall seeing Bilbo hand over the contract to anyone, or speak with anyone that appeared to practice law. After they returned their host had disappeared until dinner, so talks were rescheduled to today._

_The dwarf refocused on the books, finding most of them were histories of the realms of Men, but a wide variety of topics were on hand including several shelves that seemed to be dedicated to growing plants. He slid a thick, leather-bound tome out from its slot and opened it to find a beautifully illustrated book of herbs and flowers. Each picture was delicately drawn and tinted, labels and notes on growing seasons, best conditions, and uses in cooking, healing and miscellaneous ways taking up the margins and opposite page. Many had samples of what he thought was the plant in question pressed between the leaves._

_Gandalf had decided to take up most of the low divan under one wide oval window and was apparently half-asleep in the afternoon sunlight, the other end occupied by another stack of books and a dozen scrolls. Two leather backed chairs were near the fireplace, a low table between them. They were close enough for warmth but not for light, although the window gave more than enough in the day and there were several lantern hooks that would suffice for light at night._

_A desk and chair, both overflowing with papers, inks of different colors and a variety of quills in a wide range of conditions cluttered it. In the center lay an open book with neatly written columns of numbers. Curious, Balin set the herbal on the desk and pretended to browse through it while glancing at the other. It appeared to be a ledger of sorts, a record of rents collected and crops sold along with expenses accrued listed neatly down the page. And while Balin would never consider himself an expert with money matters beyond the vague references generally made in treaties, he would speculate their host was a very wealthy potential burglar indeed. He would have to consult with Gloin for the particulars, and made a note to seek out the red beard when he was done here._

_“It was my father’s, originally.”_

_Balin jumped at the quiet words spoken at his elbow. His jerk threatened to topple the heavy herbal to the floor and he fumbled with it to keep it steady. Mahal only knew what damage such a drop would do to the fragile plants within._

_Book firmly secured, he turned to find their host behind him, a tray heavy with tea and small foods in his hands._

_“My apologies for startling you, I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard me come in,” Bilbo said cheerfully. He set the tray on the low table near the fire then began shuffling papers on the desk._

_“Oh, nothing to forgive, Master Baggins. It is a magnificent work; we dwarrow may not work much with these softer materials, but we can certainly appreciate the craft that went into it. Your father’s work, you said?”_

_The hobbit had changed his clothing since that morning. Now he was clad all in dark colors, save for his pale yellow shirt. Both his breeches and his waistcoat were of some dark brown, stiff, corded material. Brass buttons adorned his waistcoat, and touches of different colors were sewn along hem and collar._

_“Yes, he was quite the gardener; he and Holman Gamgee did quite a bit of experimenting with different plants. Many of them brought by back by my mother from her travels. Tea, Gandalf?”_

_Bilbo finished clearing a place at the desk and transferred the tray to the wider surface. He began pouring three cups and added honey to one and milk to another before offering them to his guests and passing around the tea sandwiches._

_Balin had a moment of worry when he realized that he was the only one who had sweetened tea, while Gandalf was the only one with milk. The hobbit had taken neither, and he wondered if they were going to come down with a quick case of dead or ill in revenge for suddenly dropping a baker’s dozen of dwarrow and a wizard on his doorstep. He noted that the wizard didn’t seem to have any reservations about the food and drink, instead openly savoring each bite and sip._

_“What of yourself, Master Baggins, are any of these books done in your hand?” Balin asked, just to break the silence._

_It was Gandalf that laughed and answered. “Indeed, my friend, Bilbo here is quite the author. I see one of his histories and two of his collections of tales on the shelves here.”_

_Bilbo frowned at this, and Balin spared a moment to wonder why. The hobbit seemed to him very much the academic type, despite his quick defense of the hobbitess two nights prior. That was something any male of any race should do for a female, and simply proved he had morals. Although a moral burglar seemed a contradiction, it boded well for the hobbit keeping to his word._

_“Yes, I’ve penned a tale or two, but you know, Gandalf, that my interests lay more in maps and their accuracy.”_

_Balin chuckled, “Well, Master Baggins, should we come to an agreement you might be able to verify such for yourself.”_

_Bilbo smiled slightly and set his tea aside with his plate. “I must admit that was a temptation with your offer, but there are some issues I have with your contract as it stands.”_

_“Shall we see if we can resolve those issues, Master Baggins?” Balin smiled and sipped at his tea. “Where would you like to begin? Payment?”_

_“Oh dear, no,” Bilbo dabbed at his lips with his napkin before folding it and setting it aside and leaning back in his chair. “My father always said to begin at the beginning, and I’ve always found it to be sensible advice. So if you don’t mind, Master Balin, I’d like to start by asking if you and your Company are hiring me as a privateer, pilferer, procurer or prostitute?”_

_Gandalf choked._

 

Thorin was ready to tear hair.

And his dependable shield-brother was totally useless. The battle-honed, mountain-thewed, intimidating, roughhewn chunk of solid stone with the temper of a forge dragon had turned into a kitten. A kitten with catnip. Catnip that came in the form of a ferocious little hobbit lass named Apple Chook. Who apparently baked a blackberry tart better than their host’s which Thorin knew was absolutely ridiculous. No one baked a better blackberry tart than--.

 

_Despite the lack of windows, Dwalin knew he had snapped awake an hour before dawn. He knew it, because he’d done it every single day of his life since he’d first started weapons training just after his tenth birthday. Under mountain or over plain, he woke at the same moment every day. The softness of the bed under him and the warmth of the blanket over him enticed him to sink back into their comfort, and for a moment his eyes fluttered shut._

_Then his brother snorted in his ear and he woke again with a sigh._

_Big as he was, Dwalin was a light-footed dwarf, a product of his extensive and intensive training. Since his birth, he had been taught that his place was at the side of the Durin kings, even as his own family was close enough to the royal line that they could inherit over some of the more distant, but still direct, kin. Every day since he’d made his Choice he’d worked to make sure the Durin line would endure no matter the cost to himself. Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, would follow Kíli in the bloodline, but by dwarrow law he would have to negotiate or defeat both sons of Fundin before that would happen._

_Dwalin would see Dís on the throne before he would allow that to happen, and there hadn’t been a ruling dam since the first part of the Second Age._

_Decently clad save for boots, Dwalin slid out the door, shutting it softly behind him and heading for the washroom. A quick stop to refresh himself and he started for the kitchen, intent on something to eat before he started weapons practice. No matter what the burglar had insisted on last night Dwalin had every expectation that they would be loading up to leave immediately after breakfast, if Thorin didn’t just decide to toss the wizard’s advice and eat on the road._

_Someone was cooking and by the delectable smell drifting down the hallway it wasn’t Bombur. The dwarf was good enough with a stew and excellent at making do with what was at hand—what dwarf wasn’t these days—but this was something beyond rough road fare._

_Dwalin slid into the kitchen and locked his eyes on a small feast. Bacon and ham glistened next to a pile of fluffy eggs and a stack of golden toasted bread. Butter and honey hovered nearby, and a pot of tea was steaming next to it. He reached out to snag a piece of ham and snatched his hand back just before a wooden spoon could impact his knuckles while a stack of pancakes a hands breadth high slid onto the table._

_Spinning and reaching for the spoon at the same time, he froze when he spotted fiercely glaring green eyes over a pert nose and under a long black fringe. He closed his eyes and bit back a groan; really, who did he piss off to have such rotten luck?_

_He followed the spoon warily as it twirled then tapped the back of a chair sharply. Dwalin hastily sat when he didn’t move fast enough for the wielder and it came back up to wave under his nose. Wiser in the ways of the world and womenfolk than some might think, Dwalin sat quietly while the hobbit-lass poured tea, settled a pair of bowls of porridge of some sort and then piled a plate high before setting it in front of him. A pitcher of milk joined the table along with some early berries. Apparently satisfied with her work, Mistress Apple gave a sharp nod then slid into the seat across from him and pulled one of the porridge bowls in front of her._

_Dwalin watched her and waited for her to take her first bite. The long black curls were tied up in a high tail of some sort, and her dress was deep green with a lighter green bodice. Graceful hands and fingers were the only uncovered part of her arms, and they danced over the tableware before settling at the edge of the table._

_He looked up and met her eyes, wondering what she was waiting for, if perhaps someone else was supposed to be joining them? He watched as her eyes flicked down to his plate and back up to meet his own, a tiny, puzzled frown starting to form. Dwalin looked down at his plate, wondering what it was she was looking for. The plate was piled high with enough food for two dwarrow, and he wondered if he’d be able to eat it all._

_When he looked back up she was starting to glare again, and still hadn’t picked up her spoon. Was she waiting for him?_

_It was a silly idea, since all dwarrow knew dams ate first at the table; they were precious and few and meant to be cherished in every way, including ensuring enough food. Only very young children were ever allowed the privilege of eating before a dam, and even then only until they reached their first Choice. But then it’s not like he’d actually be eating, was it?_

_Dwalin picked up his fork. Instantly some of the suspicion faded from his hostess’ face and she picked up her spoon._

_Gratified by his success, he scooped a forkful of steaming eggs. She scooped up a spoonful of porridge._

_Sadly, a hundred years of conditioning and thumps from his mother and brother kept him from getting the fork any closer to his mouth, and when he looked up he saw the fierceness fading as her lower lip started to twitch. With every evidence of tears on the horizon, Dwalin did the sane male thing, that thing that males had been doing in the presence of female tears since the Valar were sung into being._

_He panicked._

_“Nah, nah, lass!” The fork clattered to the table and he started to reach for her only for Mistress Apple to drop her spoon, splattering porridge while she jumped back out of his reach. In a heartbeat the cooking spoon was back in her hand and waving at him. Thinking quickly he leaned back in his chair, threw both hands up and froze. Slowly she seemed to settle back into her own chair, but the big spoon was never far from her hand._

_The two stared at each other, and Dwalin had to wonder if he looked half as puzzled as she did. Cautious, he lowered his hands back to the table and watched between the wariness and her hand twitching occasionally._

_“I think, Mistress, that we’ve encountered a problem of you bein’ a hobbit and meself bein’ a dwarf,” he said slowly. Dwalin thought through what he wanted to say for a few more moments. “Now me, bein’ a dwarf and brought up all respectable-like,” he hid his grin when he saw her roll her eyes, “my manners are that the lady of the table—,” he winced at her scowl and raised eyebrow._

_“Yes, the lady,” he emphasized, “always eats first. Now I’m guessin’ that Shire manners is…the lad eats first?”_

_He watched while the Mistress shook her head then tapped her wooden spoon on the edge of the table. When she flicked it at the hallway and then made a little circle with it, it was his turn to frown._

_“Worse than tryin’ to figure out ol’ Bifur. Dwarrow? No? Oh, guests? Guests eat first?” And when she smiled at him, eyes solemn but bright, he realized he could be in big trouble._

_The two sat in silence, neither looking at anything in particular. Dwalin started when an idea came to him; could it be that simple?_

_“How ‘bout this, lass,” he picked up his fork, stabbed a fluffy morsel and leaned across the table to hold it out to her. “Now, this is my food, from my plate; if you eat it, my food has been eaten first for you, and it’s been eaten first by the lady of the table for me. Does that suit?”_

_To Dwalin, her smile this time was dazzling._

 

Thorin mentally smacked himself. What did he care how good the blackberry tarts were? He had other things to be getting on with!

Little Ori the Company scribe had disappeared the first day to a small shop that sold yarns and other such goods and Thorin hadn’t seen him since. Glóin had reported seeing Ori surrounded by balls of yarn in the room the Ri brothers had been given, and the lad apparently surfaced for meals but that was it.

_Ori washed and dried his plate and cup, placing them back on the shelves carefully so the fine clayware didn’t clatter or chip. He busied himself with straightening and wiping, catching Dori’s approving look out of the corner of his eye. He waited until his brothers were occupied, Dori and Nori starting one of their everlasting squabbles and slipped out of the room by the back door. Master Baggins had taken himself off earlier after dropping three baskets of cleaning items in front of the two princes, and hadn’t that been a scandal!_

_He hovered outside the back door, wringing his gloved hands, waiting for Dori to drag him in or Nori to herd him with clever comments, but this might be the only time he had to explore by himself. True, he’d be with Master Baggins so it wasn’t really by himself but it would be the closest he could come._

_And Master Baggins made it sound like he wanted to commission him! Ori! To craft for him! Oh to finally be recognized as having a craft at all!_

_It felt like hours but was only a handful of minutes later before their hobbit host nipped around the corner, a covered basket in hand._

_“Are you ready then, Master Ori?” the hobbit asked, warm brown eyes kind and patient._

_“Oh, just…just Ori, please, Master Baggins, I’m no master yet,” he said, looking down and twisting his hands in his sweater._

_Master Baggins seemed to study him, head tilted to one side before giving a nod. “Then you must call me Bilbo, for I’m certainly not your master. Indeed, I doubt any of the skills we hold in esteem in the Shire would be recognized by your guilds. I think it unlikely there’s much call for a guild competition inside a mountain over whose tomatoes are largest and tastiest; which would be mine, by the by,” Bilbo guided the young dwarf along the path to his gate and then down the Hill into the market. “I’ve won with my heirloom tomatoes for the last five years running at the Market Festival.”_

_“Dwarrow aren’t much for green things,” Ori mentioned, taking in the bustling morning market. There were hobbits everywhere and he was taller than all of them! And it seemed that half or more were dams, unlike their own race where less than a third of all births were females._

_“Fortunate that tomatoes aren’t green,” Bilbo answered lightly, not seeming to take offense but rather appreciating the warning._

_As they moved through the market, Ori felt himself beginning to relax. Their hobbit—Bilbo—stopped at several different stalls and negotiated with the sellers there for all sorts of things. Some, like tomatoes and carrots, Ori recognized, but there were several varieties of yellow things with a curved end as well as some fat, shiny purple ones. Meats of all types were bartered for as well, and Ori watched while Bilbo arranged for their delivery and signed what he took to be payment agreements._

_There were a few stalls that were selling small items of furniture or kitchen wares, and a glass blower was set up in what seemed a semi-permanent spot. The metal and glasswares all seemed to be well enough but certainly not up to dwarrow standards, and he’d seen Bifur discard wooden figures much better made than the ones the hobbit children seemed to be playing with._

_Finally, food for several days had been ordered and delivery arranged, and Bilbo began moving towards more permanent shops and away from the farmer’s markets. As they walked they wandered a bit, and Bilbo pointed out several places he seemed to think Ori might be interested in._

_“And here is our smithy; of course nowhere near of the quality of dwarrow work, I’m sure, but then we hobbits rarely have need of weapons or armor. Do you need anything while we’re here, Master Ori? Perhaps a whetstone for a blade or a balance? Need something sharpened?”_

_Ori shook his head. “No, I don’t carry a blade, Bilbo; I’m the Company scribe, you see. Although I do carry a sling, just in case.”_

_Bilbo paused in his walk and frowned, seeming surprised. Surely he’d noted that Ori had surrendered no weapons the night before? “Your pardon, Ori, but what does being a scribe have to do with carrying a weapon? Do you not travel in pursuit of your profession? At the very least, do you not travel with the Company on a dangerous journey? What of wolves? Wargs? Orcs?”_

_“Well, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Ori answered, blood rising to his cheeks. “I’m a fair hand with it, and the rest of them are armed. I’m quite sure the rest would be able to deal with anything, the princes look quite competent, and Dori and Nori are both very ferocious. And I’m…strong,” he added on, wanting to reassure Bilbo that if anything came close Ori would not be unprotected._

_“Strong?” Bilbo asked._

_Ori stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Our ancestor, a couple of generations back was…was…well, not born from marriage.”_

_Bilbo nodded, eyes widening._

_“So, well, Thorin and his family have always been decent about it, especially since we come from a common ancestor. Nothing that happened was their fault, and they recognize that we didn’t have any say in it either.”_

_“I would think not!” Bilbo exclaimed, apparently shocked at the idea._

_Ori was beginning to get the idea that there was something he was missing; something was distressing the hobbit beyond the irregularity of their ancestor’s birth._

_“Master Baggins, if I have offended you—,“ he started with._

_“Bilbo, Ori, and no, no you have not offended. Rather it’s,” Bilbo paused, obviously searching for words. “It is just, among hobbits, we recognize that life comes in many forms, so of course love would as well. Should a lass quicken,” Ori felt himself beginning to blush and could see the tips of Bilbo’s ears reddening. “And there be no sign of marriage, we don’t look askance at either; there’s not enough of us any more to resent it. We prefer, of course, that there be vows and parents, but it is sometimes the case that a lad or lass wishes faunts but not a spouse, and our families are usually big enough and close enough to provide any extra support. After all, sometimes it is the unplanned crosses that bear the most surprisingly delicious fruits.”_

_Bilbo cleared his throat and heaved a sigh. “Now, I know it’s different among Men and Elves, and you say it’s different with dwarrow also, so I’ll believe you. But you should know that here in the Shire not a hobbit will say a word about it.”_

_Ori was incredibly relieved at the hobbit’s words, and the authoritative nod he gave at the end just reinforced them. Perhaps if things went poorly with the quest and any of them survived, they could return here to the Shire. Surely they could find a niche or two to fill, and maybe then Nori and Dori could stop their constant fighting. It wore on the whole family, but somehow still never seemed to end._

_“Now, young Ori, what has all of this to do with you being strong?”_

_Ori blushed again. “Dori was asked because he’s the strongest dwarf in Ered Luin right now, and he wouldn’t go if they didn’t take me and Nori. Nobody knows it but I’m almost as strong as Dori.”_

_Bilbo studied Ori while they stood outside the smithy, and Ori could feel himself wanting to fidget. But the hobbit had indirectly shown him that his life—his family’s life—didn’t necessarily have to continue on the path they had trod so far. There were other places where they could make their way, the Shire being one of them. So he stood firm while the hobbit measured him with his eyes and waited for what Bilbo had to say next. If even one of the plans beginning to form in Ori’s mind could work, he and his family would owe Master Baggins a considerable debt._

_A slow smile, almost a smirk, appeared on Bilbo’s face. “Ori I think I’ve a solution; let me think on it a bit first. Now, here, Mistress Amaryllis’ shop; lovely little place._

_A bell tinkled over the door as they entered, and Ori had to duck slightly to get in. Inside he gasped in wonder. Yarns and threads in every color he could imagine were neatly organized along walls and tables. He could actually have enough of the same color to finish an entire garment to match. And so soft! He slowly caressed a skein of golden brown yarn, relishing in the feel of the virgin wool._

_“Ori?” Bilbo called him, and Ori snapped out of his color-induced haze._

_Their host stood next to him, an older hobbit lady with him in an overskirt that looked to be knitted entirely of odds and ends, but the different colors and textures blended beautifully, showing off different stitches and patterns. A yarn butterfly decorated a clasp to hold back graying red hair, and her round face betrayed laugh lines with her smile._

_“Ori, this is Mistress Amaryllis; I’m putting you in her hands, I’m sure she’ll be able to help you pick out the very best yarns for what I have in mind.”_

_The lady hobbit nodded, “Of course, Master Baggins; fourteen pairs of gloves with matching scarves and hoods. And such a lovely pattern, too, perhaps we could trade later?” she asked, patting Ori on the back of his knit covered hand. “I’ve a lovely white rabbit that would make up into a fine lady’s pair, perhaps with a muff? What do you think, Master Ori?”_

_Ori looked down at the cheerful lady hobbit and swallowed nervously._

 

Bifur and Bofur had been swept away in the first wave of tiny hobbits—fawns or faunts or whatever they were called—and were rarely seen by any of the Company before supper. Bombur was contentedly pottering in the kitchen turning out piles of what their burglar called travel food, completely oblivious to the uproar he’d caused by simply existing. The rest of the dwarrow wandered in and out and about, usually in the company of two or more hobbits, and after their initial bafflement seemed perfectly happy about it.

_“Whatcha’ doin’?” a tiny voice demanded._

_Bofur looked up from the pony he was carving and met the biggest pair of baby blue eyes he’d ever seen in his long life. Blinking didn’t make them go away, but did show they belonged to a tiny hobbit just over knee-height on the dwarf. Those blue eyes were in a round, sun-kissed freckled face, and a halo of red-gold curls licked every which way. The lad (or so Bofur thought) was dressed in a miniature version of their host’s clothing, complete with tiny rainbow-colored braces. A flat-brimmed straw hat with a feather sticking out was tipped back on the little one’s head to finish it off._

_Bofur took his pipe out and set it on the table. “Why, I’m carving a pony for a hero to ride,” he smiled down at the little one. “See here,” he leaned over and pointed out the different spots that would become part of the tiny mount. “Here’s his head, mane flying, and along this line is his back, then here will be his tail.”_

_A few quick cuts roughed in the legs, angled to look like motion, but flat enough that it would stand. Bofur set it on the table next to his pipe, then picked up the hobbit-child and sat him on his lap so the child could see._

_“Now, what great hero will ride it, do you think, eh?” Bofur asked, reaching for his bag. He already had the “hero” dwarf carved, a wonderfully articulated thing that could be positioned in many ways._

_“Bilbo.”_

_“Eh?” Bofur looked up, expecting their host to have arrived. Instead, the young lad was making the pony trot along the table top._

_“Bilbo is the hero,” the lad announced, sliding from Bofur’s lap and working his way down the other side of the long table._

_“And why is that, lad?” Bofur asked. He never expected a second lad to suddenly appear and cuff the other on the arm with a hiss._

_The first lad gave the second a sullen look then looked back at Bofur before shrugging and continuing to prance the pony around the table._

_Bofur glanced over at Bifur, wondering at the stillness in the face of an invasion of little ones, and found him being held captive by a hobbit princess._

_Bifur appeared to be engaged in an intense staring match with a tiny little girl-hobbit. The darling barely came up to Bifur’s knee, and had one pale, chubby hand resting on it for balance. Long, pale gold, curling locks were tied on the top of her head with a red ribbon, the rest cascading halfway down her back. She wore a red dress with white stitched flowers around the hem over what looked like several layers of white petticoat. Even her bare feet were on the dainty side, the typical hobbitish fur so pale it was nearly invisible._

_She clutched a stuffed toy that looked to Bofur to be a well-loved bunny, which she suddenly offered to Bifur, leaning forward to push it into the old warrior’s arms. Bifur looked up at Bofur, bewildered. Silently, Bofur motioned for him to take it, and as soon as he had the princess lifted both arms to him._

_“Up!”_

_Carefully, Bifur lifted the lass onto his knee, wrapping an arm around her to keep her steady. Her face was every bit as beautiful as a princess, with eyes Bofur could only describe as amethyst. She squirmed a little in Bifur’s grip, then did the one thing that would make Bifur her slave forever._

_“Dis!” she laughed, before smacking a kiss in her palm and gently laying her damp hand on Bifur’s cheek. “Dis! Dis!”_

_And then, happy with herself, promptly snuggled under Bifur’s beard and went to sleep._

_A tug on Bofur’s sleeve brought his attention back to the—four? Where had the other two come from? The two newest seemed slightly older, or were at least taller, and were devouring a biscuit each._

_“Can you come see my da?” the littlest one asked, gripping the half-carved pony._

_“And why would ye want me to do something like tha’ now?” Bofur asked around his pipe._

_The little one blushed and looked down, shy._

_“ ’Cause our da don’t make nothin’ like this and if you showed him how then we could have lots more toys,” said one of the older ones. Looking carefully, Bofur could see a resemblance around the nose and mouth. What was visible past a very large biscuit._

_“And it will save you a load of grief, Master Dwarf,” an adult’s voice cut in, a female voice and Bofur jumped up for the older hobbit lady making her way in through the kitchen, trailing four more little ones and carrying one in her arms. “Della Cotton, at your service,” she added with a dip of her head._

_“Bofur, at yours and your family’s,” he said with a nod, pinned down as he was by a crowd of youngsters. “My cousin, Bifur,” he added, gesturing to the older dwarf whose gaze was still fixed on the tiny princess sleeping in his beard._

_This hobbit was the oldest he’d personally seen, and that only by the threads of grey and silver glinting in auburn hair. Her entire bearing said mother, from her modest blue dress with white apron to the way the little ones flocked to her._

_“Well our little Dia has always been a good judge of character,” Della said cryptically, watching the two in the corner, “so I’ll take you up on your service. Now,” she turned her attention to the flock that seemed to have multiplied again to a dozen or more. “Master Bilbo said one biscuit each, from the big bear jar, and then off with you. Master Bofur, if you could reach it down please? Ah, thank you.”_

_The big bear jar was apparently the biscuit stash for the younglings of the Shire and was at least the size of a small ale keg and just as heavy. Removing the lid revealed a golden treasure much appreciated by hobbits of all ages, and Bofur found himself helping with handing out so many the jar was only a quarter full afterwards. Helping himself to one as a reward, he slid the jar back into place._

_With his next blink, a dozen little hands had dragged he and Bifur outside, being led away as captives by a throng of hobbit-lets of all ages and sizes in a small parade towards what appeared to be a mill._

_‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘mayhap I’ll find some decent wood to work. Or at least I can offer to help them with that old thing,’ he added to himself, eyeing the ancient waterwheel. With a shrug he made his way to the open door and knocked._

 

Bombur. There was something Thorin _really_ didn’t want to think about without copious amounts of alcohol, and spared a grateful thought to their host for handling it.

 

_The first sign that negotiations with their potential burglar had broken off for the day was Balin’s appearance in the kitchen. Thorin was sitting at the table pouring over the map Tharkun had surrendered to him the night the Company first met in the Shire. The counselor to kings was…humming. In Thorin’s experience this was either very good or very bad, but either way it meant Balin was very entertained._

_“It goes well, then?” he’d cautiously asked, watching Balin put the kettle on the fire._

_“Oh, aye, he’s a sharp one all right, but I wager he’s not seen all my tricks yet. We’ll come out on top, I’m sure.”_

_The older dwarf kept humming while he reached down a cup and a pot and poured out a measure of leaves into the pot. He gestured to Thorin with the cup, and when Thorin shook his head went back about his business._

_It was then that Master Baggins entered the room, three large bouquets of flowers in one hand, and a large, yellow and white cake with some kind of small red fruits on top in the other. With some maneuvering the hobbit was able to drop his burdens on the table without disrupting them._

_The hobbit braced his hands on his hips and arched back until a quiet popping could be heard. “Whew, so much better,” he smiled sunnily at Balin and Thorin._

_And Thorin absolutely did not notice the strength and flex in the hobbit’s forearms when he did that. Ridiculous notion._

_Master Baggins reached for three large vases and began to fill them with water. While he pumped, he turned his head to look at Thorin. “As the leader of the Company, Master Oakenshield, may I ask you about the marriage availability of your people?”_

_Thorin froze over the map and heard some strange noise from Balin as well._

_“Marriage, Bilbo?” Balin asked, and thank Mahal for the old conniver._

_“Well, certainly,” Master Baggins frowned at the flowers as he began arranging them in their containers. “Although I’m surprised I’ve only received the three so far, considering how gorgeous he is, but perhaps word just hasn’t spread yet.”_

_There was no doubt in Thorin’s mind that both he and Balin had completely baffled looks of surprise on their faces when the hobbit looked up. Master Baggins face smoothed out and took on his own look of surprise when he did._

_“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “Look, because you are non-hobbits staying with me that places you under my protection? Jurisdiction?” The hobbit waved his arms. “Any road, that makes me your hobbit head of house, so any courtship offers, or offers of other kinds, come to me first. Since you are in charge of your group, Master Oakenshield, I thought I should check with you before going to Master Bombur.”_

_“Courtship offers?!”_

_“Bombur?!”_

_“Of course! Master Bombur is a most attractive figure for a hobbit. A little on the hairy side, but that can be overlooked in light of his overall roundness, smooth, fine skin and that hair color! So exotic! Hobbits aren’t quite as fidgety about cross-race pairings, since that is where we derive from ourselves. He’d be quite the treasure to add to any lineage, especially if he cooks as well as it appears he eats!”_

_“No,” Thorin growled out. They couldn’t afford any kind of entanglements like this, and besides…._

_“I’m afraid, Bilbo, that Mister Bombur is quite, quite married,” Balin cut in before Thorin could put these upstart hobbits in their places. “He found his One very early; six healthy younglings and another on the way. They’re quite a legendary pair among us dwarrow.”_

_“Six!” Master Baggins exclaimed, eyes wide. “Best not let that get out or I’ll have to arrange an escort everywhere for him.” He frowned. “That actually might not be a bad idea any way.”_

_“Well,” and the frown miraculously disappeared, replaced by his normally placid cheer. “If Mister Bombur is not open to marriage, what about dalliances? Would he be open to that? No strings attached, as they say?”_

_Thorin felt his jaw drop._

 

Fíli and Kíli had introduced themselves to the two Thorin had caught with their packs right after that first breakfast. None of the four had been seen since, although evidence of their presence had been plentiful. Fortunately there was no permanent damage to anything and all the fires had been caught before they became a hazard.

 

_The Princes of Erebor slid into the pantry the two hobbits had disappeared into as soon as their uncle’s back was turned. As large as the little side room was, it was crowded with shelves and rows of barrels giving the two of them plenty of cover as they snuck up on the other pair. From the sound and conversation they were restocking the pantry, something that the people of this land took as seriously as dwarrow did their own crafts._

_Fíli signed to Kíli to go around one side of a line of barrels that appeared to hold some kind of spiced drink. He also made a note to come back and liberate some for their party; who knew when next they’d have the chance?_

_The two ghosted down the aisles, led on by voices. At the end he paused, caught a glimpse of Kili readying himself as well, and leaped out, ready to surprise their prey._

_“Fí—.”_

_“Kí--.”_

_The rest of their traditional greeting was cut off by faces full of pie and laughter._

_“Gotcha!” the dark-haired Shando crowed while he jumped around._

_“Your faces!” the lighter Halfonse croaked out._

_It was several minutes before the two hobbits could recover enough to hand them towels, while the princes scraped pie filling from their faces and beards. For once, Fíli envied his little brother’s lack, since he was sure the purplish berries he’d been hit with were going to stain his mustache forever. Finally the two calmed down and helped the dwarrow clean up the last of the spilled pie._

_“Really, you might be stealthy for dwarrow, but you’ve not a patch on hobbits,” Hal said, patting Fíli on the back._

_“Not to mention hobbit hearing,” Shando added, wriggling his ears for emphasis._

_“So hobbits are related to elves?” Kíli asked, tossing the last berry stained towel in a basket._

_“Not directly,” said Shando._

_“Bilbo has some ideas about that; where hobbits come from and where we fall in with the rest of the races. Like to talk your ear off if you ask,” added Halfonse._

_“So mostly we try not to ask,” Shando finished, reaching up to throw an arm over Fíli’s shoulder. “Now you two lads seem like likely mischief makers, and it just so happens that Hal and I could use a couple of likely assistants with our latest try at livening up things. What do you say?”_

_The brothers looked at each other and grinned. Really, the chance to make mischief and not be blamed? Who could pass that up? Besides, they could always pass it off to their uncle as trying to find out more about the hobbits, and one in particular. Hadn’t they already found out Master Baggins was some kind of history scholar? And what scholar was able to hold his own in combat? It was something they’d have to take into account, protecting the little guy if there was a fight. Surely that’s something their uncle should know to plan for!_

_“What did you—“_

_“Have in mind?”_

_“And how are we—“_

_“To get out to meet you?”_

_“Bil’s got you two on cleaning duty this morning, right?” Halfonse barely waited for their nods before plowing ahead. “You can’t shirk that, it’s one of the few things that would set him off, and you really, **really** do not want that; his revenge tends to fall in the epic category. When you’re done, just slide out the kitchen door and over the hill, my smial is down the back of the hill and across the path there. I’ve a pair of apple trees in the front, and I’ll be looking for you, so you won’t get lost. Shando and me’ll meet you there and let you in on what we’ve planned.”_

_Strangely enough, it was as easy as the two hobbits had described to slip out the back as soon as their penance was paid. Master Baggins had disappeared somewhere and their uncle and Balin were both a bit disgruntled over that. Dwalin had vanished much earlier, even before breakfast, and both Dori and Nori were fussing over where their youngest brother had gotten to. In all the bother no one even noticed the two princes were no longer in the residence._

_Fortunately, Shando had spotted them before they’d gotten too lost; apple trees looked like every other tree when there was no fruit on them. The hobbit guided the two in past another round door into a much smaller home that the one they were staying at. The smell of something hot and cooking met them once they were inside, but neither could identify what it was._

_“This way, lads, and we’ll show you what we have in mind,” Shando said, leading them into the kitchen._

_Apparently what the two had in mind involved bucket upon bucket of long strands of some pale, sticky stuff._

_“Noodles,” Hal explained with some pride. “Easy to make, quick to cook, and they start out a bit slick then turn sticky as they cool. Been cooking them since before first breakfast.”_

_“We’ll take them out tonight, extra late, and cover the Party Tree in the middle of Hobbiton with them,” Shando added._

_Apparently the two dwarrow looked puzzled by the idea, leading to the hobbits elaborating._

_“Look, d’you dwarrow have…not someplace sacred, but someplace that’s like a gathering spot? Like a town square or a fountain or the like? Someplace social?”_

_Kíli was at a bit of a loss, but Fíli nodded after a moment of thought. “Aye, there’s a fountain in the market square,” he elbowed his brother. “You know the one, near Rungrind’s old place.”_

_Kíli snorted and slid into a seat at the table, poking at one of the overflowing buckets and then eyeing the three large boiling pots on the stove top. “Rungrind wasn’t worth even the idea of a place. Don’t know how he got accepted by the Guild at all.”_

_“Likely knew something he shouldn’t have,” Fíli said. “But yes, we’ve such a place.”_

_“Now think of, oh, painting the pig on it blue or some such; harmless, easily fixed, and most folk will get a laugh, but the stuck up ones who think much of themselves will get their noses out of joint.”_

_Fíli laughed, seeing where the two hobbits were going, even while Kíli seemed confused, muttering about blue pigs._

_“So the plan is to cover your tree with these…noodle things? Then see what the town worthies do?”_

_“Aye! So are you in, lads?” Halfonse leaned forward while Shando busied himself fishing noodles out of the boiling waters with a slotted spoon, only to add handfuls of long, straw-like sticks back in._

_“What if it doesn’t work?” Kíli asked, having graduated to running the things through his fingers._

_Shando threw a grin over his shoulder at the two dwarrow. “Well, then, I’ve still got a couple crates of fireworks from the last time the old grey buzzard was through for the Took’s birthday party out in my shed. I’m sure a group of creative lads like us can find a use for them!”_

 

Gandalf, of course, had been no help what so ever in any of it. “It will be fine, Thorin,” and, “Trust me, Thorin, you’ll thank me for this,” were all he ever got. He suspected the wizard was spending the extra time at the inn guzzling the admittedly excellent ale and smoking the also admittedly fine weed. Hobbits enjoyed their comforts and seemed to spend an extraordinary amount of time and effort to make sure their comforts were exactly the way they wanted. Which didn’t stop at pipe weed and ale if the size of the families Thorin had seen were any indication.

He sighed from his seat on the porch and contemplated a pipe to while away another afternoon when the sound of a door opening behind him followed by laughter and the clomping of boots drew his attention to the interior of the smial. Balin was grinning like a fool and shaking hands with the hobbit that owned the place.

“Ah, laddybuck, you’re here, good. We just need your signature and our contract is finished.” Balin flourished a much shorter length of parchment than he’d started with, and held out it and an inked quill to Thorin.

Thorin looked from his premier adviser to the gently smiling hobbit. Today the hobbit was wearing a white shirt and tan, calf length breeches and a dark green vest. There was ink on his hands and a tiny smear along one cheek. His tawny hair was in messy curls and his brown eyes were warm. He looked, in all, simply gorgeous.

“Thorin?”

The King in Exile mentally slapped himself again, hastily scribbled his signature next to the burglar’s and tossed the contract back. Gorgeous. He certainly did not just think that.

“Finally,” Thorin breathed. He turned to Balin, “Pack, we leave at sunrise. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Oddly, Balin turned to the hobbit and raised an eyebrow. The hobbit in question looked wide eyed and distressed.

“Oh, no—no, we can’t possibly leave at sunrise. Earliest will be after lunch, day after tomorrow, so it’s best we just wait that extra day and get in a full day of travel.” The look on the hobbit’s face was entirely in earnest. “The tailors, cobblers and leather crafters won’t be done before then, and I’ve still three more suitors for Mister Bombur I’ve to meet and turn down.”

“I am the leader of this Company, and I say we leave at sunrise,” Thorin growled, hiding a shudder at the memory of the line of hobbits bearing food and flowers. Chasing Bombur. So inappropriate.

“Well, yes, but you really should have read that contract before you signed it,” the hobbit sighed. “Really, Master Balin, I know you said he’d no head for the niceties, but I thought prudence was well within his reach.”

Now what in Mahal’s balls had he done? Balin only got that disappointed look when he did something like compare that tree-shagging ambassador’s daughter to an ugly goat. Even if the comparison was fully justified.

“Thorin I suggest you take some time and read over what you’ve signed. It’s not truly too different from the original, but we may not leave here until Master Baggins is convinced we are prepared for such a journey.” Seeing Mount Thorin about to erupt, he hastened on. “Master Baggins has agreed to undertake such preparations at his own expense, and without reimbursement since it is only his opinion.”

“Fine. Sunrise, three days from now.” Thorin ground out.

The hobbit smiled and nodded slightly. “After breakfast, three days from now.” He held up a hand before Thorin could object. “Breakfast to be an hour before sunrise.”

Realizing this was the best he was going to get, Thorin nodded. He snatched the contract back from Balin and strode out the door to find a place to smoke and read in peace.

No matter what they said behind him, he was not stomping off like a dwarfling in a tantrum.

 


	6. Off the Porch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Character development. More fluff. Bilbo rides like a gaucho. Sorta.

Off the Porch

(In Which Our Heroes Finally Get—Off the Porch)

Three days later at the “bum-crack of dawn” as Halfonse put it, said hobbit stumbled in the kitchen door of Bag End and collapsed at the table. He debated demanding tea or just falling asleep on the table when something hot thunked next to his hand and a familiar voice chuckled.

“Told you to go to bed early.”

“Did,” Hal mumbled, blindly groping for the mug he knew was next to him. He yawned before slurping down a mouthful of near scalding brew. “Ah, that’s the ticket. Thank Yavanna there’s twenty-seven of us, or we never would have got done as much as we did.”

Bilbo slid a tray of fruit scones in the oven to bake. “Yes, you all performed magnificently. The faunts were all amazing. I had no idea we even had that many in the area.” He reached for the last of the meats left for the morning and began frying sausage, bacon and ham in heroic quantities. That started, he dropped a pile of vegetables in front of Hal along with a kitchen knife.

“We don’t; me and Shando borrowed a bunch of ‘em from Brandy Hall. The order you sent ahead to Bree should be done by the time we get there. Are we still sticking to the plan? And do you have a better knife, this one’s gone dull.” Hal made a face and set the kitchen blade aside.

Bilbo didn’t bother looking up from the meat he was turning as he tossed another knife behind him and heard the slap of the handle hit palm.

“Whoa!”

A voice that wasn’t Hal’s exclaimed from the interior doorway. The two hobbits looked over and found the older prince in the doorway, his brother watching from over his shoulder.

“Good morning! If you two will get plates we’ll have breakfast shortly and then be on our way,” Bilbo waved at the cupboards with his fork.

The brothers looked at each other before splitting up and pulling down the necessities for eating. Throughout they looked, twitched, blinked and in general made faces that carried on a lively debate without making a sound. Soon enough everything was laid out, several more dwarrow had made an appearance, and thick wedges of some kind of egg pie were making appearances on plates.

Thorin, though last to arrive was also the first to finish. He waited behind a cup of tea as the rest slowly began to settle back. All were dressed in leathers and armor, and while most of it was familiar he spotted things here and there that didn’t bear the marks of long and heavy use. Even his own armor had disappeared at one point, only to be returned cleaned and conditioned with a couple of worn laces replaced. Young Ori now sported plain vambraces that didn’t quite flex freely, and he suspected thin metal or hard wood splints worked in it; not heavy enough to fully shield, but enough to deflect and possibly save his life.

The hobbits were changed most of all. While the youngest dwarrow quietly cleaned up the dishes under the burglar’s direction Thorin was free to observe. Leather straps twined around his feet and up his calf, the ends hidden by long leather breeches that looked as well-worn as his own. Tucked into it was a coarse brown shirt, the sleeves a bit looser that Thorin thought wise, and over that a thin linen vest loosely laced. It was more practical than he thought the hobbit would be, even while part of him wondered how their host seemed so comfortable in it.

Thorin pushed back from the table when his cup was taken and cleaned. “Finish up and let us depart; we’ve a lot of road ahead.”

The Company shuffled out to finish their preparations, whether dressing or packing, and Thorin could finally say he was pleased with their response.

“Master Baggins,” he called to their host, and when the hobbit turned to him, he nodded. “I would like to thank you for what you have done; even if your actions went no further than your generosity to myself and my dwarrow, you have done more than most any would.”

“Bilbo, please, Master Baggins is much too formal for the amount of time we’ll be spending together; and it’s much, much easier to yell if I need to duck,” Bilbo said, stepping closer and grabbing Thorin’s shoulders.

“Tell me, Thorin, have you read that contract yet?” Bilbo asked.

Puzzled, Thorin studied the hobbit in front of him. “Not yet. Balin has negotiated some of the most important treaties of the dwarven kingdoms; I trust him to have managed one for this.”

And it was because Thorin was standing so close to the hobbit, studying him, that he caught the slight tightening of a gentle smile and flicker of eyes over Thorin’s shoulder.

Bilbo chuckled and gave the dwarf a gentle nudge that on a hobbit would be a shake. “You really, really need to read it.”

With a final clap on the shoulder, the hobbit stepped around Thorin and disappeared into the maze of hallways. Baffled, Thorin turned to follow the hobbit, only to find Gandalf just stepping out through the front door, staff in hand.

It took Bilbo only a few minutes to throw his pipe and an extra bag of leaf into his pack and pull on his lined vest and lace it. He flexed and twisted to make sure nothing poked at him before he slung his belt around his waist. Long knives strapped down, his quiver and bow went over his back and he grabbed his own bracers, the set of throwing knives and his packs and started out the door.

Dwarrow were in and out, bringing their bags onto the front porch, and look like nothing more than an angry mob of invading barbarians despite the cheerful whistling from several. At Bilbo’s insistence each now had two packs, one that they would wear and a second to be lashed to their pony, so each made more than one trip. Armor had been repaired, replaced or purchased as needed and possible. Weapons were cleaned and sharpened, and all turned out to be—unsurprisingly—in excellent repair. Boots and cloaks were cleaned, although several of each had gone mysteriously missing and been replaced with others, along with extreme apologies from the Master of Bag End about the mischievous nature of faunts and tweens. Food, bedrolls, water skins and medical supplies had been topped up and extra distributed, along with a discussion of what to use and what not to use on dwarrow and hobbits.

Bilbo stood at one end of his porch, contemplating his garden and out of the way of the dwarrow when Halfonse appeared from around the corner, dressed much like Bilbo. Without a word he held out his hand and Bilbo dropped the bracers in them then pulled on a pair of light half-gloves. He held out his own arms for Halfonse to work on.

“I’ve sent word on ahead with Raven to have the ponies ready to go. He’ll see to it your dwarrow are mounted and off within an hour of arriving,” Hal stated abruptly.

“My thanks, Buck,” Bilbo smiled, a bit sadly. “You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Psh!” Hal grinned. “It’s only to Bree an’ back. Me an’ Badger already planned it. I’ll swing through the Farthings, south to north on the way back. Sort of a counter-sweep, see what I can pick up from the Bounders and the Rangers that Badger might miss. Besides, need to figure out which one of these is gonna have your back in a fight.” He jerked his head at the dwarrow milling about.

Bilbo flexed his wrists in the stiff leather, then slid a pair of blades into each. Two more went into leg sheaths on the outside of his breeches, one down his back and the last in his belt. He rolled up the leather and stowed it in his pack, lashing the top tight.

“I’m thinking the pair of princes, actually. The dark one there is an archer and his brother uses twin swords. Give us a little height with the fair one working defense and we should be a hell of a team. Have to wait and see, though, they may be too tight to work in a third. Ah, there’s the wagon.”

And indeed, Hamfast Gamgee arrived just then with a long wagon pulled by a pair of ponies. Quickly the old gardener jumped out and made his way up the steps, dodging confused dwarrow.

“Master Baggins, sir, your wagon.” The elder hobbit doffed his hat with a little nod.

“My thanks, Mister Gamgee. Here’s the keys to the old place, and I’ve already made arrangements to make sure you’re paid until I return. Feel free to make use of anything left in the pantry, wouldn’t want it to spoil and make a mess after all.”

“Right generous, sir, and me and the missus will make sure she’s kept just the way you like it.”

Bilbo smiled and handed over the keys. “I know you will, Mister Gamgee.” He glanced over at Hal. “Let’s go, Master Buck.”

Hal grinned, “Right behind you, Master Fox.”

Bilbo crossed to where Thorin was chivvying the last of the Company along and out the door. “Master Thorin,” he began, “if you will have everyone toss their bags and then themselves into the wagon, I thought we’d save ourselves a bit of time and do my neighbors a favor all at once.”

Thorin turned to him with a frown. “It’s best we get used to the road as soon as possible. We are dwarrow, Master Baggins, not--,” he cut himself off.

“Hobbits? Yes, I know,” Bilbo said archly. He deepened his voice, “Hard as the root of the mountain.” His eyebrows waggled salaciously and his voice returned to its normal mild tone. “We’ll test that theory later, shall we? In the meantime, the wagon and ponies need to be returned to the Dragon in Bywater, where you happen to have your ponies stabled until called for. Two birds, one stone, Master Thorin. Besides,” he added, “Halfonse and myself will be mounted, and while I’ve no issue with going on ahead while the thirteen of you ride Shank’s Mare, I’d rather not spend the extra time it’s going to take to haul him out of the ale once you finally get there.”

Bilbo trotted off, hailing Glóin and the princes, while Thorin was once again left with his jaw hanging and he wasn’t quite sure how it happened. And yes, there was another hobbit, the blond one from breakfast this morning, holding the reigns of a trio of mules. Clad in armor that matched Bilbo’s, with a pair of knives tied down and a bow over his back.

“Hobbits,” Tharkûn said from behind him, and Thorin turned. “You can learn all there is to know about them in a month and they’ll still surprise you even a hundred years later.”

“Balin,” Thorin snapped, turning his back on the wizard. The elder statesman quickly separated himself from the cart loading and made his way to his king’s side. “Since when did we acquire an extra hobbit?”

Balin frowned. “Extra hobbit? We’ve only the one. Any other hobbits are Bilbo’s responsibility.” His face smoothed out into his normal diplomatically cheerful smile. “You should read the contract, laddie.”

Thorin huffed before he walked over and started tossing packs into the back of the wagon.

With all of them working together, packing and loading went smoothly and quickly. Bilbo took a quick tour through his smial to make sure no hidden candles had been left burning. He tugged a blanket smooth here and kicked a rug flat there. Open doors that should have been shut were gently closed, and he picked up the book he’d been meaning to read; he’d likely have plenty of time now, since they couldn’t talk all the time on the road. He thought about tossing the last of the milk in his cold cellar, then remembered that the Children would be moving in within the next day or so and Bag End would be full of life, just as it was meant to be.

Cheered, he whistled his way out the door then closed and locked it, leaving the extra key under the mat for someone to pick up later. The dwarrow were settling in the wagon, with Gandalf and Thorin in front. Bilbo took Molly’s reins from Hal, swung himself up and rode up next to the wizard.

“Can you drive a team, Gandalf? Or would you rather ride and have me do it?” Bilbo asked cheerfully. There was something about the morning that was making him happy, and he couldn’t help teasing a little.

“I think I’ll manage, Bilbo; once you’ve driven a team of rabbits, horses and ponies are nothing short of relaxing,” the wizard answered, taking up the reins.

“A team of rabbits!”

“Tell us!”

The princes scrambled to lean over the back of the wagon to coerce the Grey Wanderer into telling the story of an improbable race between two wizards who were crossing the plains of Rohan, each with a team of giant rabbits pulling their sleds.

Mission accomplished, he dropped back to ride next to Halfonse. Twisting around, Bilbo threw one last look back at Bag End, watching as it slowly disappeared while they wound their way down the hill.

_“The road goes ever on and on_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_And I must follow if I can.”_

Bilbo sang softly, until Hal gave him a look. “If you must sing, sing about something more cheerful than the never-ending road, like, never-ending beer or something.”

Bilbo laughed, and turned his attention forward.

 

The ride to Bywater passed quickly, both Hal and Bilbo waving cheerfully at other hobbits who returned their waves with a smile or the occasional shaken head. The soft walkers they rode made for a much smoother ride, and Bilbo was not looking forward to swapping Molly with Socks, but supposed he’d get used to it.

As it was, they arrived just in time for lunch. Bilbo slipped Halfonse some coins, and while the dwarrow were finishing tacking up their mounts Bilbo had Hal pick up a couple of large baskets from the inn. In the hustle, Bilbo hunted down Thorin and touched his arm lightly to gain his attention.

“Master Oakenshield, if I may have your attention for a moment?” he asked, careful to wait until there was no one else speaking with him.

“Did you need something, Master Baggins? Have you forgotten something? Need to run back home? We shan’t wait, we’ve delayed too long already.” Thorin’s words were polite, but the acid in them could etch glass.

Bilbo looked away, exhaling carefully while he chose his words. “Not at all, however there is the matter of one of your mounts carrying, and I thought you should know what arrangements have been made in the matter.” He smiled gently, waiting for Thorin’s response.

Erebor’s King in Exile closed his eyes and tried to draw on his patience. Yes, he was anxious; already they were a week behind, but that did not excuse discourtesy to someone who had offered so much help. That the help offered was in ways that he should have been able to provide made it that much worse, and his pride chafed at it.

“My…apologies…Master Baggins, I should not have spoken so. All I can offer is that I am impatient to reach our destination. You were speaking about our ponies?”

Bilbo nodded and flashed what he hoped was a winning smile. “I can certainly sympathize with wanting to reach home as soon as possible. Think no more on it. Now, Goldie is carrying, and as such will not be suitable for a long journey such as this. Instead, I would like to trade Goldie for my Priss, and perhaps a small sum of coin since while you will be getting a soft walker I’ll be getting Goldie and her foal.”

Thorin frowned and crossed his arms while he thought. “What difference does that make? No matter who rides her, she is still not suitable for the journey.”

“Except that Halfonse is turning back at Bree. He’ll ride her back from Bree and she is still early enough that a short journey like that will make no difference to her or her foal.”

“An even exchange then, Master Baggins. You have done enough for my…our Company as it stands, and a foal you may or may not live to see born is little enough recompense.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to frown. “I may not live to benefit but my heirs will, and as they are the ones who would benefit and they have done nothing for you and yours I don’t see how paying forward out of their inheritance can hurt.” Not to mention it would be the Winter’s Children as a whole that benefited, not just one or two particular hobbits, and they had, in fact, done a great deal of work for Bilbo and the dwarrow in the last week. This would come strictly out of the Baggins accounts, rather than the group’s war chest.

Thorin held up a hand. Blast this hobbit; was there no end to his arguing? “Master Baggins—“

“—Bilbo, please.”

“Bilbo, then, would you please just take the pony?”

Bilbo drew himself up further and tilted his head, the better to study the dwarf’s face. The tests of the last week had been long and tiring, for both hobbits and dwarrow he was sure. So far, the dwarrow had passed them all, given everyone’s ignorance of the other’s culture. It was still possible these were just exceptional representatives of their people, even with the broad cross-section of abilities and backgrounds.

Thorin, however, looked somehow both at his wit’s end and on the verge of tears. How bartering for one silly pony could affect a dwarf—any dwarf, but this one especially—so much, and not leave the hardest of hearts moved, Bilbo had no idea.

Really, it’s no wonder dwarrow were considered among the greatest barterers in all Arda. Next time, _Thorin_ was coming with him to do the shopping.

“All right.” Bilbo heard the words come out of his mouth before his teeth clicked together sharply over anything else he might have said, and the tiny, pleased smile on the dwarf’s face left Bilbo baffled and blinking while they nodded to each other to conclude the deal.

Hal found him there ten minutes later, staring into space and absently patting Socks’ neck while the mule tried to chew on the hobbit’s curls. Hal took in his friend’s baffled, absent frown for a minute before he elbowed Bilbo and handed him a warm meat pie.

“What’s got your brush all a-bristled?” Halfonse asked, biting into an apple.

Bilbo moved his frown from the far distance to one much closer, directing it at the meat pie that steamed contentedly back at him.

“Hal,” he said, taking a bite of the gravy filled delight. “I believe I’ve been out-foxed.”

Hal chewed while he considered this. “Gave you the eyes, did he?” he finally said.

Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at his friend while savoring the warm meat pie.

“His nephews can do it too, wondered where they got it from,” Hal added. “Got us out of a right scrape a time or two this last week, and you’ve always been weak for that play.”

“Hardly! When have I ever—“

“Daisy Chubb,” Hal cut in with a grin, and kept going before Bilbo could answer. “Frisian Fairbane, Enlo Dingle, Aster Grubbs,--“

“All right!”

“Tam Sunstout.” Flatly.

“Enough!” Bilbo cut Halfonse off with a growl and a huff. “It’s a weak point,” he said, “and…and I’ll work on it.”

“Softie,” Hal teased, feeding his apple core to Priss then slapping Bilbo on the back. “We love you anyways, Bil; besides, gives us a way to manage you when you get stubborn. Looks like your dwarrow are ready to go, so I’ll just nip these baskets back inside and be right behind you.”

“Mount up!”

The call came just in time to save Hal from anything more than a sullen glare from his friend. With a sigh, Bilbo yanked the stirrup long, swung himself into the saddle and settled himself, bending slightly to shorten his stirrup again.

“Where’s your friend, Master Baggins? Don’t want to leave him behind.” The cheerful voice startled Bilbo into looking up from checking knots.

It was the dwarf with the hat, Bofur. _Bof, of the line of Ur,_ Bilbo reminded himself.

“Returning baskets, Master Bofur,” Bilbo answered cheerfully. “Have you found everything to your satisfaction? It’s not like we’ll be in the middle of nowhere for a few days yet, but you never know when you might need an extra handkerchief,” he added, pulling a fine linen example from a pocket and brandishing it.

Some signal passed through the Company then, because the ponies started into a steady walk. Molly canted an ear back, not moving until she received a quick tongue click from her rider. Grateful she refused to break her training and follow the ponies, Bilbo gave her a quick scratch on the neck before he signaled her to move on, wrapping Socks’ lead line to one of the rings on his saddle. The slight delay moved him to the back with the other pack pony that was being led by Bombur.

Not deterred, Bofur moved to the side and dropped back to ride with them. The rear group rode in silence for a few minutes, until Bofur reached over and patted Bilbo’s saddle.

“Sheepskin?” The dwarf asked, digging his fingers into the wooly, padded and shaped rolls.

“Yes,” Bilbo answered cheerfully, “doubled, rolled and then stitched to shape. It doubles as a blanket or pad as well as being much easier on the softer parts.”

“Hobbit made, then?” Bofur grinned.

“Of course! If there’s anything a hobbit knows about, it’s how to be comfortable in the worst cases,” Bilbo answered with a chuckle.

The dwarf pulled out a pipe and spent a few minutes packing it, a thoughtful look on his face while he concentrated. But before he could start another round of questions, the clip-clop of quickly approaching hooves distracted them all.

Hal on Priss gave a cheery wave while he trotted up to meet them. “All done, Bil, and I didn’t stop for ale, although Flora Cherrythorn sent me off with a couple of skins for us to share.”

At that news both Bombur and Bofur perked right up and began chattering about different travelling ales they’d both had over the years and whether or not they actually stood up to travel and a traveler’s thirst.

With the dwarrow distracted by their arguing and comparing, Hal nudged up next to Bilbo before leaning over and snapping a lead on Molly’s bridle. He smiled at the questioning look shot his way.

“You get first nap,” he said, settling down into his own sheepskin. Before Bilbo could part with the protest Hal could see forming, he continued quietly. “Yes, we’ve all done our share of dwarf-sitting and errand running this last week, but you had the entire crowd of them in and out of your smial that entire time. And don’t think we don’t know how wearing that was for you. Now, tuck your legs in and nap, I’ll wake you in a couple hours. Frogmorton is on this road, and not even this direction blind bunch can miss it.”

Bilbo snorted at that. “Now you’ve done it. Their leader got lost half a dozen times between his room and the toilet, and the others are worse.”

On the other hand, Bilbo thought to himself, he _was_ tired, and Hal could be trusted to get them to Frogmorton, especially with the promise of an inn at the end of the ride. So without further ado he tucked his legs between some tight wool rolls and let the easy sway lull him to sleep.

 


End file.
